Naked Soul
by LostinOblivion
Summary: After months of misery, Emily finally walks away from a bad relationship and heads to D.C. to heal. But walking away is only the beginning of her fight. Prentiss/Morgan. Prentiss/OC (sort of). For Lizzabet.
1. Chapter 1

_This story is for Lizzabet, who created the cover for me for Fallen. This story has Blake in it, so it's set either last season or the one before. However, I don't remember much of season 8 and I didn't really watch season 9, so I'm pretty much ignoring anything that happened except Blake's presence. I do not own the characters or world and I certainly do not own the Emily Dickinson poem. And that isn't the full poem below. Thank you all for reading, and Lizzabet, I'm sorry it took me so long to start posting this story! It will be a long though, so hopefully that makes up for it.  
_

_Trigger warnings for domestic violence. _

* * *

"_He fumbles at your spirit  
As players at the keys  
Before they drop full music on;  
He stuns you by degrees,_

_Your breath has time to straighten,  
Your brain to bubble cool,-  
Deals one imperial thunderbolt  
That scalps your naked soul._

_-Emily Dickinson_

Emily didn't say a word on the drive to her apartment, and she was relieved that Clyde didn't try to initiate conversation. It was late afternoon as they drove, the sun shining down blindingly bright, an uncommon occurrence in London. The traffic was light, because it was a Thursday and most people were at work. _They_ should have been at work. Emily should have been in her office, trying to complete paperwork through the constant barrage of phone calls and knocks on her office door. But they weren't at work, and Emily probably wouldn't be back at work for a while. Clyde wanted her out of the country for at least a month. Emily wasn't nearly as convinced that running away would help, but for once, Clyde was the one pushing her to go. He was afraid.

She was afraid. But she was also angry and exhausted and damn near broken.

They arrived at her building, parking in lot that, had it been later in the day, would have been filled with her neighbor's cars. Instead a handful of vehicles from the Metropolitan Police Service sat in the lot, parked haphazardly and taking up multiple parking spaces. Clyde stayed close to her as they walked to the building, both nodding at her doorman before walking toward the elevator. Emily had yet to start calling it a lift or calling her apartment a flat. She figured it came from how much moving around she had done in her life. If she'd picked up the terminology used by every place she had lived, no one would ever understand what she was saying.

The police presence didn't bother her until they got to her apartment. It was at the end of the hallway on the seventh floor, and once upon a time, she had liked the location because the hallway window was right there and made the space look cheery. Over the last few months, the walk down the narrow hallway had felt less like coming home and more like walking to the gallows. Or like the hotel in _The Shining_. Now the door to her apartment was wide open and two officers stood guard outside. Emily's body tensed, not at the memories from the last several months, but at the invasion. That was her home, her private life, and now it was laid bare.

Like she had done for the hours she'd spent at the hospital, Emily shut herself down. Her shoulders lowered and her fisted hands loosened. It can't hurt if you can't feel it.

She and Clyde flashed their IDs and entered the apartment. A young man that worked in Emily's office saw them and quickly made his way over. From his pocket he pulled out a set of keys and handed them to Emily. "Both locks were changed, ma'am. The locksmith said that the new deadbolt should keep out anything short of a missile. Please let me know if there is anything else that I can do."

Owen Gracie was a nice guy. Very young, but polite and didn't give Emily any shit. She figured being younger, he wasn't as bothered about answering to a woman. She expected to see pity in his eyes, but instead she found anger and even more surprising, pain. Then she remembered something he had said to her once, and knew exactly why Clyde had picked him. He'd been in a car accident last year that resulted in two fractured ribs, but had been back at work quickly. When Emily told him he could have more time, he'd shrugged and said he'd be fine, he'd had far worse as a kid.

She tried to smile, but doubted that she succeeded. "I'm fine, thank you, Owen."

"Why don't you pack your bags, Darling?" Clyde said.

Emily nodded. Ordinarily, she might have glared at him for using terms of endearment in front of their subordinates, but at the moment she didn't particularly care. And young though he was, Owen had worked under Clyde for years. The kid had to be used to it.

She had avoided looking at the rest of her apartment, which still had crime scene officers gathering evidence. She resisted the urge to order everyone out of her apartment. The curtain on her personal life had already been yanked up, there was no going back now. There was nothing left to hide. Instead she tapped an officer on the shoulder. "Can I get in the bedroom and pack my stuff?"

"Sure. We won't be too much longer in here."

"Thanks." Part of her did not want to go into her bedroom. She'd been trapped in that bedroom from Friday until earlier this morning. And then he'd only released her, because she had to work. Emily had prepared for work, but instead of going, she'd driven down the street and called Clyde.

Emily averted her eyes from the corner by the closet. Even in her peripheral vision, she could see that the officers had not removed it yet. She walked to the bed instead and reached a hand underneath it. Her go-bag was already packed, as it always was, and her fingers found the rough material easily. She pulled it free and tossed it on the bed, before sticking her hand back underneath it. It took her a minute, but she managed to find her suitcase that she hardly every used. She'd purchased it to use for vacations, and well, Emily didn't often go on vacation. That she tossed on top of the bed as well, and began to throw clothes, shoes, jewelry and other items into it. She'd almost finished filling it, and took one step toward the door to get he last few items she needed, when Clyde appeared with a small stack of books in his hands. He handed them over and Emily studied them, before looking up at him. "Should I even ask how you knew which ones to grab?"

Clyde smiled. "Your bookshelf is not that challenging to profile."

She actually smiled and rolled her eyes. Clyde's eyes drifted then and his gaze went dark. Emily followed it to the metal dog crate that was parked by the closet. A heavy chain collar sat on top of it. She tugged his arm, pulling his focus away. "Come on. I'm done here."

"Don't forget to throw the bastard's things in a box."

Emily reluctantly completed that task, storing away the things that four months ago brought a smile to her face. Seeing Reece's things around her apartment had made her feel warm and tingly four months ago; but now they just made her feel sick. When it was all over and the officers removed the last of the evidence from her apartment, Emily shut the door and turned her key in both locks. She let Clyde lead her down the stairs and back to his vehicle, and she tried to feel nothing.

Two days later, she was almost successful. She'd spent the previous nights at a hotel under an alias she hadn't used in fifteen years. Yesterday, she'd provided an affidavit in court, detailing every nightmare Reece had put her through over the last several months. Her misery was all on record, and so was her humiliation. The judge was an older guy, white haired and surly, but with a softness in his faded blue eyes that hardened as he granted the injunction. His voice was hard as he declared that Reece was not permitted to be within 100 metres of her home and was not permitted to contact her for the next six months.

Clyde had gone with her to court, though he'd been forced to wait outside, and he'd taken her to work afterward so she could sort through some things. This morning he'd picked her up again. Clyde had always had her back, something she hadn't doubted since their first assignment together, and that hadn't changed even with all the years that had passed. He'd hugged her when they got to the airport, which was very much not Clyde, but then the hug was barely a hug. Emily had waved and walked with her go bag and rolling suitcase to the plane. She passed through security and without hesitating or twitching, she handed the stewardess a passport with a different name on it. It was far from the first time, and it probably wouldn't be her last time doing so. Emily slid into her seat and tried not to think about Reece.

* * *

Morgan stretched and rested his hands on his bald head as he contemplated his pantry and fridge. He needed to make dinner. He ordered in too much; he had to cook for himself more often. The problem was trying to figure out what to make. He opened his freezer and studied the contents. Seriously freezer-burned fish was perched awkwardly on top a package of frozen green beans, some sort of rice mix was thrown haphazardly beside it, blocking off the last item that he had reach past it to grab. Chicken thighs, wings and legs. He took out the package and rummaged in his pantry, smiling when he found what he needed.

His father's mother had taught him how to make fried chicken, but his mother had adapted it to be more healthy and turned it into flavorful baked chicken. He also had some potatoes that he could mash and green beans would finish off a meal that would make his mama proud. And he'd have extras for the next few days. Of course, that meant that they'd almost certainly be called away on a case. Still, he shrugged and got to work, defrosting the chicken in the microwave and preparing the batter and bread crumbs. He'd finished the chicken and was working on peeling the potatoes when the doorbell rang. Morgan wiped his hands on a towel, and went to answer, expecting to find a couple Jehovah's Witnesses on his doorstep.

His initial surprise when he opened the door quickly gave way to a big smile. "Emily!"

She smiled back. "Sorry for the lack of notice. You up for a house guest for a few days?"

He saw the larger suitcase she had in addition to her go bag and knew that she was in the states for more than a few days, but didn't ask. Not yet anyway. But he did study her more carefully. Though her smile reached her eyes, there was something behind it that he didn't like. It was pain, maybe even fear. It was need. She was running from something. But he didn't interrogate her. Instead he smiled and opened his arms to envelope her. "Are you kidding? I'm thrilled to have you."

Her smiled widened and she stepped into his arms, wrapping her own around him. Something in her stance made him hold her tighter, eliciting a barely audible, though pained moan from her. He quickly stepped back. "What's wrong?"

She shrugged. "It's nothing, just a little banged up from a minor car accident."

"What?" He frowned. "What accident? When did that happen?"

"A couple days ago, but I swear that I'm fine. Injuries were very minor."

Morgan continued to study her and didn't believe a word she said. But he didn't press. Instead, he stepped aside so that she could come inside and took her larger suitcase from her. He tried to grab her go-bag too, but the look on her face made him release the strap. Some things did not change. Emily Prentiss being hellbent on her independence was one of those things. He led her up to the guest room, and told her to come join him in kitchen whenever she finished getting settled. He returned to his cooking, chopping the potatoes and putting them into boil, before grabbing the garlic and onions for the green beans.

With stellar timing, Emily walked into the kitchen as he was slicing the onion, tears rolling down his cheeks from the spicy bite of the vegetable. Emily grinned. "Imagine that, Derek Morgan, the quintessential tough guy crying over onions."

"It is a autonomic reaction, I can't help it," he insisted with a fake pout. Truth was he loved it. He had missed their teasing banter since even before she'd left. It hadn't really been the same since she had died. Maybe even earlier. Maybe since Doyle started stalking her and Emily began to spin-off into her private darkness. A darkness that he would have given anything to have been given the chance to help her out of, but Emily was extremely private.

Emily chuckled. "What are you making? And is there anything I can do to help?"

"Baked chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans. And, not really, unless you want to peak in the oven and see if the chicken is ready to be turned."

She nodded and began walking toward the oven. "Do you usually cook for yourself like this?"

"No. I hardly even cook. You know how it is. I've been trying to order out less though, and chicken was about my only option, unless I wanted freezer-burned catfish."

He heard her open the oven. "Yum. Freezer-burn gives it all the flavor, doesn't it?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, just like cardboard. How's the chicken look?"

"It could probably use another minute before it's turned."

Morgan nodded and grabbed a pan, pouring in some olive oil. "So...what brings you to the states?"

"Uh, vacation actually."

He glanced up at her. "You just spontaneously decided to go on vacation?"

"Just needed a break, and I'm the boss, so I can take it whenever I want." She smiled.

He did too, though he knew her words weren't the truth, or at least the whole truth. "Well, either way, it's damn good to see you."

"Yeah, I've missed you guys." She was smiling when she pulled her cell phone out, but it dropped and her face grew white as she read what he assumed was a text.

"Em…everything okay?"

She snapped the phone shut and returned it to her pocket, her smile instantly reappearing. "Yeah, everything's fine."

He didn't believe her for a second.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N (also appears in Fallen): My apologies for the unexpected hiatus, but it couldn't be helped. I fell on some black ice and sprained my wrist about two months ago, which has healed, but then I was out of town for the last couple weekends. The update schedule I noted in the last chapter still stands, I'll be updating this story every other week, and in the weeks in between I'll be updating my other story Fallen, which I've also updated today._ _Thank you all for continuing to follow and read this story!_

_Previously from Naked Soul: _

_"Yeah, I've missed you guys." She was smiling when she pulled her cell phone out, but it dropped and her face grew white as she read what he assumed was a text._

_"Em…everything okay?"_

_She snapped the phone shut and returned it to her pocket, her smile instantly reappearing. "Yeah, everything's fine."_

_He didn't believe her for a second._

Emily waited at the bar with Morgan for the others to arrive. They'd had a good time, enjoying each others company last night, though it was exhausting pretending she wasn't spinning out inside. That text from Reece was only one of many now, each telling her how much he missed her and promising that he'd be in the states soon. How he'd gotten the number so quickly, she couldn't fathom, but she'd called Clyde while Morgan was at work earlier today and told him about it. She'd also forwarded him all the texts. As soon as he reported them, the police would go and pick up Reece before he could make it to the states. She felt better knowing that, and was hoping to enjoy spending some time with the team. She'd also worked off a considerable amount of her anxious energy playing with Clooney, who though he may have been getting up there in years, was still as playful as ever.

Garcia was the first to arrive, though it became quickly obvious that Rossi had arrived at the same time, as the blonde attached herself to his arm, practically bubbling over. Dave already looked wiped out, as Penelope looked at her and squealed, earning the attention of a few nearby tables. Without wasting a minute, Garcia grabbed her up in a bone-crushing hug that Emily returned with almost as much enthusiasm.

"I was so excited when Derek said you were in town, I could hardly wait to get done with work!" The tech looked like she might actually explode.

"Take a breath, Babygirl, we've got all night."

She sat down, and Emily took the opportunity to hug Rossi, who gave her a peck on the cheek, a warm smile and a few whispered words of Italian.

The others, including Will and the new member of the team whom Emily didn't know very well, Alex Blake, arrived in quick succession, everyone cramming around a two square tables that even shoved together were way too small for nine adults. The excited, happy energy made it easy for them to forget though.

"So, what's new in London?" JJ asked once they were all settled with drinks and finger food.

Emily shrugged. "Not much, though I am decidedly sick of all the paperwork. Hotch, how on Earth have you forced yourself to do it for some many years?"

The Unit Chief was sipping Scotch, and after a swallow he set it on the bar. "I was a lawyer before this, I'm used to swimming in paperwork."

Morgan chuckled. "That's why I never practiced. Too much paperwork and too much bullshit." He gave an exaggerated chill."

Garcia blinked. "I always forget you have a JD."

JJ failed to stifle a chuckle. "Yeah, me too."

He waggled his eyebrows. "I'm more than just a pretty face, ladies."

"Yeah, can't forget the ego," Emily teased him, offering a playful nudge.

Derek grinned. "It's not ego if it's all truth, Princess."

Emily chuckled at that, and hearing the laughter of those around her, she felt some of the weight, not really lift, but shift on her shoulders so that it wasn't so hard to carry. She had missed them all, most of all in the last few months. And no matter how hard she had tried to keep Reece's cruel words from sticking, some of them inevitably stuck. Being with the team now proved that those words weren't true; there were other people who cared about her, loved her even. And Clyde, too. If not her him, she'd still be with Reece, being broken down further and further, piece by piece.

As the night wore on, Hotch left to get home to Jack, and Rossi soon after, mumbling something about having to deal with a pain-in-the-ass editor tomorrow morning. Garcia yanked Morgan out to the dance floor, and Will pulled JJ up to join them, though the blonde didn't resist him. Reid headed to the bar to refresh drinks, and Emily pulled her attention away from Garcia and Morgan who were bumping around and laughing, to Alex.

"So, what's it like being the boss?" The other woman asked.

"Honestly?" Alex nodded. "I miss being in the field a lot, all I do is shuffle papers, answer phones and coddle pissed off politicians. The latter I could really do without, but then there is something really satisfying about being the one to make all the decisions."

Alex smiled. "Fair enough."

"What about you, how have you found working in the BAU?"

The other woman seemed to think a moment. "I always heard about how close the BAU teams were, and part of me thought it was a little weird, but after being part of it, I get it. The work is very heavy, you need something to balance that out."

Emily nodded. "They are the best part of the job."

"Yet, you left."

She studied her now empty glass. "How much have they told you about that?"

"Uh, I was told that you left to pursue another career opportunity, but…I'm pretty sure the entire Bureau knows that you pulled a Lazarus."

"And what's the prevailing theory on the rumor mill about that?"

"Oh, I don't pay any attention to rumors, though I did hear one that suggested you were a vampire. I figured that one just_ had _to be true."

Emily smiled, deciding that she already liked the other woman. "The truth it that it's all classified and the team couldn't tell you even if they wanted it, and I can't either. What I can say is that it's hard to go back to your old life after you've been dead for seven months. Everything has changed around you, and you don't really fit with it anymore."

"I don't know, you seemed to fit just fine tonight."

"I guess I found a new way to fit," she said. It was more complicated than that, it was all far more complicated than either of them said, but it was too heavy a topic for tonight. And frankly, Emily tried to avoid thinking about her "death" as much as possible.

Alex smiled then, a knowing, almost teasing grin. "I'd say you fit really well with Morgan."

"What?"

"I haven't known him as long as you have, but I've worked with him long enough to know that there was something different about him tonight. You being here brought something out in him, almost like a smile, but completely intangible."

Emily shrugged, her body instantly tense. "He's just happy to see me. We don't get to see each other much anymore."

Alex didn't have an opportunity to respond, because Emily's cell phone went off. She saw it was Clyde and excused herself, walking outside the bar where it was quieter. "Did the cops pick him up?" she asked.

"Afraid not, Darling. He was already on a plane." His words made her breath freeze in her throat.

She forced it down and fisted one hand. "Is he here yet?"

"It looks that way. Who are you staying with?"

"Uh, Morgan."

"Good, keep it that way. The restraining order is only good in England, but I'm going to fax a copy to a bloke in MPD so they have it on file. Is the bastard still texting you?"

"There was a little lull, I guess when he was on the plane, but yeah."

"Alright, he tries anything more than that and you get yourself to a courthouse, alright? With the London injunction and him flying across the country after you, it shouldn't be hard to get a D.C. judge to sign off on another injunction." His voice was full of logic and orders, but she could hear the worry underneath it. They both knew that the respective governments wouldn't negotiate an extradition for just violating an injunction. Maneuvering of that magnitude required something much bigger, like murder.

Emily ran her tongue over her bottom lip. "He's never going to let me go, Clyde."

* * *

The next morning she was on the phone with Jerome Wallace, the man filling in while she was on her unexpected vacation. Her laptop was open on her lap and Clooney was sprawled next to her on the sofa, his head resting against her thigh. Morgan was at work. She was going through her email while they talked, Jerome filling her in on things at the office and her trying to dodge all his questions about where she was and when she was coming back. It seemed that Jerome didn't like paperwork anymore than she did.

"You were supposed to meet with that gentleman from the Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure tomorrow afternoon."

"Your accent is terrible."

He didn't miss a beat. "I studied German."

She smirked. "Uh, see how he feels about a video conference."

"And if he's inflexible about the time?"

The meeting was at 10:30 a.m., London time. "Then I guess I'll get to bed early tonight."

"You're sure you don't want me to meet with him for you?"

"No, I need to be present for this one." The DSGE Deputy Director wanted to discuss the prospect of another JTF-12 task force. Just the thought made her slightly nauseated, but she needed to be involved in that decision. She needed to be there to tell him that of the five members assigned to the first JTF-12 team, only two were still alive. Tsia wasn't disposable. Sean wasn't disposable, and his wife and little girl sure as hell weren't disposable. She brightened when she noted Jerome eying her. "But you're welcome to take the meeting with the MI5 agents."

He raised an eyebrow, distrusting. "Why don't you want to take that one?"

"I didn't say I didn't want to take it, but you can handle that one as easily as I could. They have a couple of trafficked women willing to talk, and want our assistance tracing their paths and traffickers."

"Eastern European?"

Emily didn't even have to look at her notes. Eastern Europe provided a large portion of women trafficked in the world today. "Yep."

"We'll never stop it."

"That doesn't mean that we shouldn't try." But he was right. As long as there was demand, there would always be people trafficked into slavery, whether that was women forced to be prostitutes in foreign countries or children sold into heinous conditions and eighty-hour work weeks picking coco beans.

"Alright, I'll take that one. Any others?"

"I think that was all I had scheduled for this week, except for the internal meetings, which I'm afraid are going to have to be all you." The look of horror that swept over his face at the thought nearly made her burst out laughing.

"I'd forgotten about them. Happily."

"They aren't that bad," she assured, opening up her personal email.

"The hell they're not, you always look like you've just taken a few turns through an industrial dryer when you come out of them." His bluntness didn't bother Emily in the least, and she had no doubt that his description of her was accurate.

"They're a necessary evil." She clicked through the emails, sending several to the junk bin before one made her stop. Her eyes landed on it and then she couldn't look away. The fear it invoked kept her glued to it.

"Emily?"

She nearly jumped. "Uh, I have to go, Jerome. Let me know what happens with the guy from DSGE." She hung up without waiting for him to respond.

Emily went back to staring at the email. It was a photo of herself. She was wearing a lower cut dress and smiling shyly at the camera. Her clover scar was just barely visible. Even after the laser scar removal, a faint pink shadow remained. Underneath the photo was a small line of text.

It read, "I always loved this photo of you. I miss you."


	3. Chapter 3

_Previously on Naked Soul: _

_She nearly jumped. "Uh, I have to go, Jerome. Let me know what happens with the guy from DSGE." She hung up without waiting for him to respond._

_Emily went back to staring at the email. It was a photo of herself. She was wearing a lower cut dress and smiling shyly at the camera. Her clover scar was just barely visible. Even after the laser scar removal, a faint pink shadow remained. Underneath the photo was a small line of text._

_It read, "I always loved this photo of you. I miss you."_

She wanted a cigarette.

Emily hadn't had a cigarette in almost 10 years, but damn it if she couldn't use one now. The only thing that had kept her from lighting up again after Ian had broken out of prison was knowing that if the team smelled smoke on her they'd give her hell and nag her to death about what was stressing her out. Similar concerns kept her from lighting up now, that and that she didn't actually have any cigarettes. And a fitness nut like Morgan wasn't likely to have any lying around. Too bad the buzz she'd worked up while out with Morgan earlier had already worn off, but then she'd always had a high tolerance for booze. You had to if you were going undercover with the Irish. Cliche though it may be, no one can drink like a full-blooded Irishman (or woman).

Her phone buzzed again and her body tightened further into itself. She glanced at the small glowing screen unsurprised to see another text from Reece. It had been going off all night, every ten or fifteen minutes or so. They had started at midnight and were fairly innocent. He told her that he loved her, that he missed her, that he was sorry if he took their little sex game too far, that he never meant to hurt her. By two, those sort of texts began to be interspersed with other ones: why wouldn't she talk to him, didn't she understand how much he loved her, he could have done so much better, but he picked her, even with all her baggage. He was the one that held her through her damn nightmares, didn't that mean anything? And on and on.

Her stomach throbbed and her throat was dry, but trying to drink water made her nearly throw-up. At three, she'd texted Jerome and canceled the meeting. She couldn't concentrate on anything right now. She didn't even bother flicking on the TV. Emily just sat on Morgan's sofa and stared out his living room window into the night.

The cell phone buzzed again. Emily picked it up and tears bit her eyes at the familiar number. Choking down a sob, she threw the phone across the room, where it hit the wall and landed on the hardwood floor. She could see a couple pieces popped off but she didn't care. She didn't care about anything until she heard movement upstairs and realized that she must have woken Morgan, which was the last thing she needed. She briefly considered running upstairs, but it wasn't like she could beat him back to her room, so she wiped at her eyes and flicked on the TV.

But the footsteps on the stairs didn't sound human. Emily glanced over and nearly laughed when she saw Clooney looking sleepy and confused. The old pitbull turned to her and stopped on the stairs. Emily waved him over, and he lumbered toward her. He gave a quick look around before he jumped onto the sofa and pressed his body into hers. Emily stroked his face and behind his ears.

"I'm sorry I woke you, boy," she told him. Clooney closed his eyes as she scratched behind his floppy ears and she considered herself forgiven. Clooney had be rescued from a dog-fighting ring when he was just a baby, before they docked his ears and beat and tormented him into being a killer. Emily loved his floppy ears, they made him look happy.

As the dog settled down next to her, Emily pulled him half onto her lap, wiped away the last of her tears, and flipped to "I Love Lucy" on TV Land. Her phone didn't vibrate anymore.

* * *

Morgan was surprised to find that Clooney wasn't on the bed when he woke up. He stretched and remembered Emily was in his guest room, and figured Clooney probably went to go sleep with her. He hoped she didn't mind doggie company. He knew she had a cat, who was apparently staying with a friend while she was in town, but he didn't think she'd ever owned a dog. Though she and Clooney seemed to get along fine from what he'd seen the last few days.

He shuffled to the bathroom, relieved himself and brushed his teeth before shuffling toward the stairs with only a bit more enthusiasm. Some weeks just felt longer than others, and this week would just never end. Of course, he and Emily had been out later than he intended (and drank more than either of them planned, as she seemed to really need it), but he was a grown man, he should be able to handle a couple late nights without feeling so tired. He was not that damn old. Not yet anyway. Maybe he'd go in early and hit the gym.

His thoughts ground to a halt when he looked in his living room. Emily was asleep on the couch, Clooney cuddled up beside her. The pitbull opened his eyes and regarded Morgan, looking slightly guilty for having abandoned his master for another bed. Morgan just smiled, he couldn't really blame the dog for choosing her. Cuddling up to Emily was definitely not unappealing. Then his smile flipped over as he noted the puffiness around her eyes, as if she'd been crying.

Why would she be crying?

Now fully awake and full of worry, he began to back-up not wanting to wake her and nearly tripped on something. He bent down to find a piece of plastic and let his eyes wander until he found Emily's cell phone and the battery loose beside it. The piece he had must have been the back of the phone. He looked back at Emily and realized that she must have thrown it. Morgan snapped the battery back inside it and the phone immediately came to life, informing him that she had 26 texts waiting for her. Morgan moved from that screen to her inbox, wondering who the hell was texting her so much and why they were making her cry.

Her inbox only showed the first ten or so words of the message without him actually viewing any, but it was enough. The pattern of the texts wasn't unfamiliar to him; he just hoped texts was as far as it went. Though, if it had sent her running back to D.C., it was likely more just text messages. Morgan powered down the phone and set it on the coffee table, before turning to the kitchen. He'd grab a water bottle and then head out for his morning run. Clooney's body tensed to jump down and follow him, but Morgan held up a hand and pointed to Emily. The pitbull settled, though he put on his sad puppy eyes that he couldn't join Derek in the kitchen. But Clooney stayed while he walked into the kitchen and Derek made himself a mental note to give him a treat with his breakfast.

When he got back home after his run, covered in sweat and ready for a shower, the sofa was empty and Emily was nowhere in sight. Neither was Clooney. In the last few years his runs had gotten to be too much for the old dog, so Derek went alone, though he took the pitbull to the park to play on weekends when he was in town. Trying not to be concerned with their absence, Morgan went upstairs and took a shower.

A little while later, the scent of bacon and eggs hit his nose as soon as he opened the bathroom door. He changed and headed downstairs in his socks to find Emily, still her in pajamas, at the stove making breakfast. Clooney sat at her feet, staring up, his mouth open as he panted, eager for bacon. Emily's feet were bare and her hair was slightly mussed in a way he didn't often see. His throat grew dry at the easy, domestic image, but he quickly shook it off. "Morning," he said.

"Hey, how was your run?" She turned her head slightly toward him.

"Not bad. It's getting a bit warm though. I'm a cold-blooded Chicago boy, even after all these years, I still can't seem to get used to this Virginia heat."

"I lived in so many different climates growing up that I can acclimate to anything pretty quickly. Though I would prefer the desert heat over the balmy humidity of the South." She set a few strips of bacon on a paper towel-covered plate. "Are you ready for breakfast?"

He smiled. "Starving."

She already had plates out and brushed the eggs from the pan onto both of them, then added the bacon and walked to the table. "It's nothing too fancy," she said.

"I usually just eat cereal or a protein shake, so this is fantastic."

Emily smiled and walked back to the stove for the one piece of bacon left on the plate. She held the strip at Clooney's level and his eyes grew wide as saucers, and he looked at Derek. "Yes, you've been good."

Clooney chomped the bacon at near lightspeed and a look of pure ecstasy passed over his face. Morgan sipped the coffee Emily had poured and fixed just the way he liked it, and tried not to ask about the texts she received or asshole who was sending them.

"Thanks for fixing my phone," she said between bites, her eyes focused on her plate.

"No problem." He told himself to keep it casual, leave it at that, but he couldn't. Derek reached on and put his hand on top of hers. "Emily."

It took a few seconds, but she did look up at him, if reluctantly. "You don't have to talk about if you don't want to, but just know…you're safe here as long as you need it."

Her eyes grew glassy, but she blinked the moisture away and cleared her throat. "Thank you."

He removed his hand and left it at that, turning the conversation to less heavy things, like the weather and Rossi's latest book that was due to hit the shelves in less than a month. Before leaving for work he grabbed a biscuit and coaxed Clooney to him as he stood by the door. He gave the dog the treat and then knelt down, thoroughly rubbing his head and lean body. Clooney nudged him, clearly enjoying the affection. "Yeah, you've been good, boy." He spoke softly. "I need a favor, Clooney. You take of her while I'm gone, okay? You make her feel safe."

Clooney nudged him more, probably having no idea what Derek was saying. With a sigh, he gave the dog once last head rub, and then waved him back. "Go find Emily," he said. "Go on."

Clooney woofed and then bounded up the stairs in the direction Emily had gone. Morgan felt a little better knowing that Clooney, though a normally gentle, affectionate dog, would go on the attack if Emily was in danger.

* * *

_So yeah, this story is a bit of a slow build, but Morgan knows what going on, sort of, and something big will happen in the next chapter and the chapter after that will be pretty intense and make many of you quite happy, I think. Thank you all very much for reading and reviewing and thank you everyone that stuck with the story through my unexpected hiatus! I know that sort of thing can be frustrating, so I really appreciate it._


	4. Chapter 4

Emily yawned tiredly as she pursued the aisles of her favorite used bookstore. It had only been a fifteen minutes walk from her old apartment and she'd spent a lot of time there several years ago. Enough to know the owner, who'd greeted her with a smile when she'd walked in ten minutes ago. It was small, but well organized and she found something very soothing about making her way slowly over the shelves, plucking anything that peaked her interest. She grabbed a Phillip K. Dick novel from the shelf that she didn't yet own and added it to the small stack in her arms. After finishing with the science fiction shelf she moved over to the mysteries-thrillers shelf and soon immersed herself in the selection of Carl Hiaasen books. Unlike Dick, she hadn't read all of Hiaasen's books yet, as they were a bit more challenging to locate in book stores and libraries.

Her fingertips had barely touched the spine of one with an unfamiliar title (_Sick Puppy_, of all names) when a familiar voice spoke her name. Her muscles tensed and the pit in her stomach began to throb angrily. Dropping her hand, Emily turned.

There he was, standing barely two feet away from her, smiling like he hadn't put her through hell. He reached a hand out toward her and Emily backed up quickly, her back hitting the bookshelf. Reece dropped his hand and the light in his eyes died.

"Oh Hinny, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you or scare you, I'd never want to do that, you know that. I just thought…well that it was just a bit of fun."

"Fun? You thought that was fun? So you think me crying was me having fun?"

His gaze dropped to his feet for several seconds. When he spoke, his voice was soft and full of contrition. "I know I took it too far, Em. I swear, it won't happen again. I swear it."

"I trusted you, Reece, and you...you..." She couldn't even say it. Not even Ian Doyle left her with such of feeling of betrayal.

His head hung toward the ground. "I hurt you, I betrayed your trust and I will live with the regret of that for the rest of my life. It makes me sick to think of what I did. I don't know what I was thinking, Emily, I really don't. I swear I think back to the weekend and I don't even recognize myself."

His voice had dropped low, like he could barely speak about it, so Emily to a chance and reached out, her fingertips just barely brushing his hand. Reece gently took her fingers in his hand. "God I'm so sorry, Emily. You have have right to walk away from me, and you're probably smarter to do so. But I have to try to get you back, even if it means begging, because I've got this wretched feeling in my stomach that feels like a bloody volcano going off every time I entertain the idea of never holding you in my arms again."

Emily didn't respond, except to tighten her hand around his. Reece took the opportunity to step closer to her, and when she didn't try to move away, he brushed the tips of his fingers along her cheek. She leaned into his touch involuntarily. He moved closer, bringing his other arm around her slim waist, and when she didn't resist or try and get away, he pulled her close to his body, taking the books in her hand and setting them on the shelf, so he could pull her flush against him. Emily trembled, but didn't stop him. Her body responded to him as it always did when he was affectionate: growing warm and sliding to fit perfectly against him.

Her quick breaths began to slow and she allowed herself to rest her forehead against his neck, her cheek against his should, inhaling the scent of him. He held her tight, rubbing her hands over her back, pressing kisses into her hair and whispering words of love into her ear. "God, I love you, Emily. I was so scared when you took off, I can't bear the thought of losing you."

Emily felt herself begin to sink into him and pressed her lips into the crook of his neck, letting him soothe her. Letting him love her. She relished the feel, the familiarity of it. His spoke with his lips against her ear. "Why don't we pay for your books, and find us a flight back across the pond?"

Her body seized up and all her warm feelings began to fade away. Emily pushed away from him. "It's not that simple, Reece. I can't trust you."

His bright demeanor fell. "You're right, Hinny. Let me make it up to you then. Allow me to take you to dinner tonight?"

Emily inhaled, her teeth sinking into her lip as she resisted the urge to gnaw on her nails. "Not dinner, I'm not there yet. But there's a park, Finley Park, it plays old movies outside during the summer."

He smiled. "That sounds like fun. What time do they start?"

"Eight." She'd gone there with Penelope a few times and Reid and Morgan too. It had surprised her to learn that Morgan had a soft spot for Hollywood classics. "We can meet there about a quarter to?"

"Sounds like a plan." He picked up her stack of books and handed it back to her. "Now, how about we pay for your books and I walk you home? Where are you staying?"

The pit in her stomach started to burn again. "With Derek."

Reece's eyes darkened and Emily prepared for an outburst that never came. Instead he relaxed and smiled again, a smile she didn't yet trust. "That's good, I know you two were very close while you were with the BAU."

She considered reminding him that they were still close, but decided it was best not to push him. It was understandable for him to be a bit jealous that she was staying in the home of another man. She'd be jealous if he was staying with another woman. "I actually drove though, so I'll just meet you tonight?"

She'd taken Morgan's pick-up that he usually used when he was working on houses. Derek had taken his bike to work, no matter how many time she told him he was nuts to ride a motorcycle in D.C. during rush hour. The people of D.C. could not drive for spit, and I-95 was the worst of all of it.

"Alright. I ought to be going then. I need to fresh myself up, you see I have a date with a very attractive and very sexy lady. I need to impress her." He offered a sly smirk and Emily found herself smiling.

"I'll see you tonight," she said.

Reece nodded and headed out of the store. Emily grabbed _Sick Puppy_ from the shelf and headed up to counter. "Hey Jimmy."

He smiled and chattered to her about a couple first editions that he'd got in as he rung her up. Emily felt better than she had in days. Reece had handled his jealousy like an adult, instead of screaming and grabbing and slinging verbal abuse, like she'd expected. And he respected her concerns enough to start with a date that most teenagers would describe as tame.

Maybe he could change.

* * *

When Derek got home after work, he found that Emily had been grocery shopping and was already busy preparing them a light supper. She seemed in much better spirits than she'd been in for her entire visit, and he felt his mood lifting right along with hers. After changing out of his work clothes, he hurried back into the kitchen, eager to enjoy her good mood. Emily was crumbling feta cheese for what appeared to be a Greek-style salad. Morgan stood behind her and peered at the bowl, swiping an olive and earning an elbow to his chest.

"It's not ready yet," she admonished.

Morgan chuckled, still chewing on his olive and backed away, hands in the air. He looked at Clooney. "You see that Clooney, I worked all day and she won't even let me steal a bite."

The dog did not move from his spot beside Emily, but did offer him "forgive me" puppy-dog eyes, clearly siding with her.

"Psssh, it will be done in five minutes," Emily said, shooting him grin.

"I guess I'll just busy myself setting the table." He said, sounding sad and wistful at once.

Emily rolled her eyes at him. "You poor, deprived soul."

Morgan grinned, and gave her arm an affectionate squeeze before reaching above her head for plates, his body brushing against hers. He heard her inhale and he knew she'd felt the resulting spark, the heat, as well. Like the gentleman he was, he grabbed the plates and quickly backed out of her personal space. Considering whatever was going on with the ass-wipe that was texting her, now probably wasn't the time for them to start anything. And that was fine, because he didn't even know if he _wanted_ to start something. Their friendship was not something that he would risk lightly.

"Oh by the way," she said, adding the cheese to the salad and tossing it. "After dinner, I'll be heading out to meet up with a friend."

"Oh yeah? Anyone I know?"

"Nope." When she didn't add anything else, Morgan grew suspicious. Emily wasn't exactly known for being forthcoming with information, but normally, she'd have at least offered context on the friendship, like from where she knew the person.

"That's good. You should have some fun while you're on vacation." He grinned at her as she set the bowl of salad on the table. "And as much as I might like to, I can't survive anymore late nights this week."

Emily snorted. "Are you getting old, Derek Morgan?"

"Bite your tongue, Princess."

"That's alright, if I was working this week, I would certainly not being going out tonight." She paused and looked at him thoughtfully. "How the hell do we do it on cases?"

Morgan scoffed. "I have no idea. Coffee and adrenaline, I guess."

They chatted to each other as they ate, enjoying each others company as they always had, almost from the moment they'd met. It had always been easy with them; they'd just clicked. At work too. She'd joined the team and fallen into sync with him almost as if she'd been working with him for years. After they finished and cleaned up, Emily went upstairs to change and Morgan grabbed his messenger bag and brought it to the den. He was a tad bit behind on his consults, so if Emily was going out, tonight would be a good night to catch up.

He headed to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and stopped as he saw Emily coming back down the stairs. She had on, dark blue jeans, a dressy black top and dangly earrings and just enough make-up to accentuate her deep, dark eyes and full lips. She was dressed for a semi-casual date, and all at once it hit Morgan. He knew what she was hiding about her "friend". Emily was meeting up with the bastard that had been making her cry last night. He felt sick.

She looked beautiful.

"You're seeing him, aren't you? The text message guy."

Her smile dropped and she stopped momentarily in her decent, only to finish and stand in front of him. "Please don't give me a hard time about this, Morgan. You don't know anything about him, you—" He but her off with a finger to her rouged lips.

"I wasn't going to." He wanted to. He wanted to shake her and ask her what the hell she was thinking, but that wasn't going to help. He knew the pattern to these things, he'd studied so many of these cases to get his obsessional crimes specialization, that knew giving her a hard time would just push her closer to the guy, whoever he was, and he wasn't going to let that happen. He did the only thing he could do. "Just keep your phone turned on and promise me that you'll call if you need anything. Anything, Emily."

She nodded and squeezed his bicep. He watched her grab her purse and head out the door. She gave him a smile before she left and he just wanted to throw-up. He'd just let her walk out to be conned and charmed by the bastard who was stalking her via text message. But he knew all that he could do was assure her that she had a safe space here with him, and be ready to take her hand when she finally asked for help. When she finally walked away.

Morgan squeezed his eyes shut and hoped that would be sooner rather than later.

* * *

_Thanks all for reading and reviewing!_


	5. Chapter 5

_She nodded and squeezed his bicep. He watched her grab her purse and head out the door. She gave him a smile before she left and he just wanted to throw-up. He'd just let her walk out to be conned and charmed by the bastard who was stalking her via text message. But he knew all that he could do was assure her that she had a safe space here with him, and be ready to take her hand when she finally asked for help. When she finally walked away._

_Morgan squeezed his eyes shut and hoped that would be sooner rather than later._

The park was already pretty full when she arrived, but Reece found her easily. Unlike many of the viewers, they hadn't brought their own chairs or a blanket, but Emily wasn't bothered. They sat closer to the front and Reece opened his arms toward her. She debated for a while, but eventually shimmed toward him and pressed her body against his. He wrapped his arms around her, and Emily felt happy, at ease even. Reece pressed his lips to area between neck and shoulder and nuzzled against her.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I promise I'll be better."

There was such pain and honesty in his voice that Emily began to let her guard down. She rested her head against his shoulder and found his hand, intertwining their fingers. Maybe it would all be okay, maybe he would get better and they'd survive this together. Listening to his heartbeat under her ear, feeling his fingers run delicately over her hair, she felt herself beginning to hope.

They remained cuddled together as the movie started. It was _North by Northwest_, a Hitchcock film, and that made her think of Morgan. He was always more excited to see movies in the park if it was a Hitchcock Film. She smiled at the thought, remembering the last time she'd come to the park movies with Morgan. It had been _The Birds_ last time, one of his favorite old films and it had been a cold that night, but they had such a good time, that by the time the movie ended, they were the only people left watching and were pressed tightly together to share body heat.

She and Reece sat for almost an hour, watching the film quietly, moving only to change position, but remaining tangled together. It reminded her of when they had first started dating, when it had all been going so well. But Emily tried not to let doubts cloud her mind and keep her from enjoying their closeness. She had actually begun to nod off when the first drops of rain splashed down on them. Just a drop here, a drop there for about ten minutes. People began to look toward the sky and check the weather on their cell phones, but no one appeared to be too concerned. Then the occasional drops gave way to a downpour so heavy that it was like being under a waterfall.

Emily jumped up and grabbed Reece's hand, running for a nearby coffee shop. They got tripped up by the people rushing around, grabbing chairs, coolers and blankets, and were both laughing by the time they reached the corner coffee shop. Both of them were drenched when they landed in the shop, breathing heavily, smiling and dripping onto the floor. They both turned to look out the coffee shop window to the park where people were still running from. Reece moved closer to her and Emily didn't even flinch. Then she felt his eyes on her and turned. He was watching her with heat in his eyes, and it sent warmth rushing through her body. Emily leaned toward him, and Reece pulled her the rest of the way, his fingers tangling in her wet hair as he pulled her mouth to his in a scorching kiss.

Her body called for his, for closeness and her mouth responded eagerly to his, drinking him in. His taste and touch were so familiar and so conflicting. Bad memories filled her with cold fear, but she tried to push them off. He had changed, or was changing at least, she had to believe that, she _wanted_ to believe that. When they broke apart, she smiled. "Even with the rain, this has been a fun night."

"Good, I'm glad you had a good time." He turned toward the front of the shop. "Maybe we ought to order something and try to wait-out the downpour?"

She nodded. He squeezed her hand. "Why don't you find us a table and I'll get the drinks?"

"Sounds good. I'll have a cocoa. And I'd advise against getting tea. Most American coffee shops just give you a cup of Lipton."

Reece wrinkled his nose. "No self-respecting Brit would drink that."

Emily smirked and pecked him on the lips before heading into the mess of tables. She found a table that was near the far corner, and sat so her back was to the brick wall behind her. Then she pulled out her cell phone and texted Morgan that everything was okay and that Reece was being the perfect gentleman. His response was a bit delayed, but then she read the text and realized that he must have hesitated.

_That's good. I'm glad. Will you be coming home tonight?_

She muddled over her response to that, before sending one simple little word.

_Yes._

They needed to take this slow if she was going to trust him again. Jumping back into their relationship wouldn't solve anything or make any of it better. She tucked her phone away as Reece came back with their drinks. His eyes drifted to the pocket where she'd just stowed her phone, but he didn't say anything.

Emily sipped her cocoa, which was still scalding hot and set it on the table. "So, how long were you planning on staying in the states for?"

"As long as you're here, hinny, I'll be here too."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Reece set his cocoa on the table and took both of her hands. "I'm not leaving until I know I've earned your trust back, and I know I can look forward to having you back in my arms for good."

"That might take awhile, Reece." Her tongue flicked out over her top lip. "Last weekend…it was bad. What you did…you hurt me, a lot. And you scared me, and that's not easy to do. I didn't think I'd ever be able to let you touch me again, it's still going to take a long time before I can be alone with you again."

He hung his head. "I know and I am sorry, Em. I really am, you have no idea how much. I'd do anything to make it up to you."

She put her hand on his wrist and squeezed it. "This is a good start."

"I hoped it would be. And I hope that you trust me enough to ask you this." Reece reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, which he opened and set on the table between them. Emily's mouth fell open as the princess-cut diamond that sparkled up at her.

"I have never felt the way about anyone that I feel about you, Emily. You're always in my head, and when you left, I thought I'd die. I can't imagine spending my life without you or with anyone except you. Help me avoid such an awful fate, and marry me?" His blue eyes burned into hers, and for the first time Emily realized that there had been more sincerity in Ian Doyle when he'd made a similar proposal. And even more troubling, she'd felt safer with Doyle than she did now with Reece.

Emily reach over, her finger rubbing the soft velvet of the box as she shut it. "Reece, you can't ask me to marry you now, not when I can't trust you."

"Bugger all, Emily, I said I was sorry. Come on now, don't put a damper on our night."

"No, Reece. You're not hearing me. I can't be with you now, not until I know I can trust you again."

"And I apologized profusely. What the bloody hell else do you want me to do?"

She shifted her body away from him, her defenses already rising. "How about giving me time?"

He shook his head and then wagged a finger at her. "Now you just stop playing coy. I tried to do it your way, but we both know you like the S&amp;M games as much as I do."

"No, not the kind that you like. And damn it, keep your voice down." His voice had grown loud enough to attract nearby attention and Emily began to feel that burning sensation in her stomach again.

He did not lower his voice. Instead he got louder and his face twisted into a sneer. "What's that, _Love_? Are you embarrassed? Don't want people to know you enjoy getting it up the arse?"

Emily looked at her lap and shook her head. "I was wrong. You haven't changed. This was a mistake." She started to get up, but Reece grabbed her arm, twisting it as he slammed her back into the wooden chair. A gasp escaped her mouth and she tried to ignore the eyes on them. "I'm done Reece, let me go."

He twisted her arm further and she winced, silently praying that he didn't fracture it. He moved closer to her. "You were never going to give me a chance, were you? This is all about Morgan. You're already having it off with him, aren't you?"

"What? Of course not. This has nothing to do with him."

"You're staying at the man's home, and you expect me to believe that?"

Emily opened her mouth to defend herself. Then her eyes narrowed. "You know what, believe whatever the hell you want. I'm done here."

She tried to get up, but he tightened his grip on her arm and slammed her into the seat again, then pushed her roughly into the brick wall, so her head bounced off of it. Emily's heart began to pound inside her chest. Reece leaned close and pressed his other arm into her chest, pushing her back into the wall so hard it was painful.

When he spoke, his voice was low and angry. "Now you listen you little bint, I've had enough of trying to play the nice guy and getting nothing back. You owe me. I spent how many months dealing with all your damned baggage, spent hours up with you after those bloody nightmares of yours, and listened to you whine about missing you American friends. All I asked for was a little more excitement in the bedroom, and you freak out and fly across the bloody ocean. You aren't so special, Emily. Frankly, I wonder why I put up with all of your crap, but I do and you will learn to appreciate that. Because I'll tell you, _Love_, no one else will. You too damaged and too bloody pathetic."

Emily didn't speak. Her heart was in her throat and her mind was turning over his cruel words.

Finally, he backed-up and moved his arm, his face instantly relaxing into the sweet guy he'd been five minutes previous. He shook his head. "God Emily, you drive me mad and make me do things I don't want to do."

She only thought about it for a second. She needed to get out, that was it. She just needed so badly to get out. He hadn't changed. He was never going to change. She grabbed her hot chocolate and dumped it over his head.

Reece screamed and released her arm, and Emily shot out of her seat and ran out of the coffee shop, feeling eyes following her the entire time. She knew D.C. way better than he did and quickly got lost in side streets. Then she ducked into a metro station, soaked again from the rain that was still coming down in bucketfuls, and took it to the stop nearest to Derek's house. It normally wasn't a bad walk and she didn't even care with the rain. It hid the tears that she was trying to hold back, but still seemed to escape. How could she have thought he had changed? Was she that stupid? Or that desperate? Or was she just as damaged and messed-up as he always told her that she was?

Emily unlocked and pulled open the door to Morgan's home, planning to run upstairs, jump into a hot shower and then crawl into bed. And try not to feel so stupid. But Clooney barked and raced out to see her and she rubbed his head. Morgan appeared only minutes behind the dog, but the smile dropped from his face almost instantly.

"Em? What happened?" He moved quickly to her side.

She shook her head. "I was wrong."

He touched her arm and began to move closer. Emily backed up. "I'm wet, I'll get you all wet."

"I don't care," he said and then gently brought her body against his, his touch as delicate as if she were a butterfly's wing. Emily leaned into him needing the comfort he offered to wipe away the memories of Reece. When her arms tightened around him, Morgan reciprocated, tightening his hold on her. Tears bit at her eyes and threatened to fall.

Her voice was barely audible. "Don't let me go back to him. I can't…I can't trust myself anymore."

Morgan didn't respond verbally, but she felt him press his lips against her hair and the delicate ministrations of his fingers along her back. It was soothing and made her pull her head back and look up at him. Morgan looked back at her with such caring, such affection in his eyes, and Emily began moving her mouth toward his without evening thinking.

Still trembling, her lips pressed against his, his mouth opening instantly to hers. Her fingers dug into his skin and her kiss grew more aggressive as she tried to get even closer to him. Morgan didn't fight, one of his hands cupped her head, and the other slid along her hip, teasing the bottom of her wet shirt. His fingers slid under the wet fabric to move across her bare skin and she pushed her body into his, feeling his hardness against her lower abdomen.

* * *

_So yeah, this is like a week late, sorry about that, I've been a little checked-out. I may or may not post a new chapter of Fallen next weekend; it's Mother's Day in the states, so I'll be out of town visiting my mother. As always, thank you everyone that's reading and thank you for those of you who review!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Her voice was barely audible. "Don't let me go back to him. I can't…I can't trust myself anymore."_

_Morgan didn't respond verbally, but she felt him press his lips against her hair and the delicate ministrations of his fingers along her back. It was soothing and made her pull her head back and look up at him. Morgan looked back at her with such caring, such affection in his eyes, and Emily began moving her mouth toward his without evening thinking._

_Still trembling, her lips pressed against his, his mouth opening instantly to hers. Her fingers dug into his skin and her kiss grew more aggressive as she tried to get even closer to him. Morgan didn't fight, one of his hands cupped her head, and the other slid along her hip, teasing the bottom of her wet shirt. His fingers slid under the wet fabric to move across her bare skin and she pushed her body into his, feeling his hardness against her lower abdomen._

Morgan was quickly loosing himself.

Touching her sent little chills down his arms, into his body and directly to the growing bulge in his pants. Her kiss made him want to let go right then and just fall into her, to hell with the consequences. But then Clooney whimpered and it brought him straight back to Earth with all the force of falling from space. He pulled away, his body aching for him to go back after only two seconds apart. Emily stood staring at him, her lips swollen from his kisses and her dark eyes glowing with need.

"Em, I…" He had no idea what to say. I want to touch you? I want to make love to you? I want to fuck your brains out right here on the wooden floor I sanded and finished myself, but holy shit, isn't this moving a little fast?

She rested a hand on his chest, and the glow in her eyes faded to something sad and aching. "It's okay," she said, and went to step away.

He grabbed her arm to stop her, but something about it spooked her and she yanked free, her body tensing, ready for a fight. Morgan lifted his hands. "Sorry, I didn't think."

"It's okay," she repeated, and again went to leave.

"Wait. Emily, wait a minute." She turned back to him, and he struggled to find words. They were still mere inches apart. "It isn't that I don't want you, I do, desperately."

"Then what's stopping you?"

"The fact that I'm your friend. You're upset and I don't want to take advantage."

"You're not. I need this." Her voice cracked slightly and Morgan was at a loss as to how to proceed. She was asking him to make love to her, to remind her what love was supposed to feel like, even when it was platonic. Or at least, theoretically platonic. He could do that for her, he could make her remember that what that asshole offered her wasn't love and certainly not the kind of love she deserved.

After a minute of silence he took her fingers and laced them with his own, before looking up and meeting her eyes, his decision made. "Just promise me that you won't regret this in the morning. Promise me that we'll still be friends when the sun comes up."

She moved closer to him. "Always."

Their mouths came together again and their hands began to roam, and Morgan broke away one last time to pull her up the stairs with him. When they got to his bedroom, he closed the door with Clooney on the other side. While he'd give that dog just about anything, he drew the line at a free show.

Together they peeled Emily's wet clothing off of her, tossing it onto the floor of the master bathroom. She began to pull at his clothing, and after feeling her cold, damp skin, he gave her a helping hand, yanking his pants off with an almost clumsy eagerness. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her into his warm chest, hoping the skin to skin contact would help warm her. Emily held onto him and they just stood, still and naked together for several seconds. Then he felt her tiny nips at his neck and he teased her earlobe with his tongue as he pushed them to fall onto the bed.

Emily pulled herself further back onto the bed and he straddled her, surveying the beautiful figure before him, but his eyes couldn't help but settle on the bruises marking her body. There had to have been about five different colors on hers arms, telling him that her boyfriend had been hurting her for a while. The deep purple and blue marks on her abdomen all looked less than a week old, as did the handful of marks marring her legs that were of a similar hue. He could see finger marks in the coloring on her arms and legs and seeing that made his chest grow tight. It all stood out so brightly against her pale skin. A long breath escaped his mouth.

She tugged on his hand to get his attention. "I'm fine."

"Yeah? Well, I want to kill the bastard. How long has this been going on?"

She shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Em—"

"No. Please, forget about it, just for tonight." She watched him, her eyes still glowing, asking him to just give her what she needed tonight. She needed to feel loved and he could give her that. So Derek swallowed his anger and began to give her just that.

He started at her throat, nipping and kissing and sucking, and moved down her body, his tongue teasing her nipples and taking her breast in his mouth. Emily whimpered and moaned and he continued down her body, warming her flesh as he moved. A sharp sound came from her mouth when his hand slid under her back to hold her as he kissed her, and it wasn't a happy sound. Morgan frowned and gently pushed her onto her side. His eyelids slid shut and he shook his head, willing his hands not to tense into fists. Her back was also several different colors, many looking suspiciously like lash marks, and he could make out a few welts in the mix.

He wanted to get dressed, stomp out the door and hunt the bastard down. But he didn't. Instead he pressed a kiss to Emily's shoulder and released his hold so she was laying flat on the bed again. She stared off into the distance, not meeting his eyes. Morgan pressed his lips to hers, satisfied when she responded to his touch. He resumed his ministrations, teasing one of her nipples and working his way southward. Derek ran his tongue in a line right above the v of her groin, earning a sharp intake of breath before he flicked his tongue over her clit. He used his mouth on her, drawing the process out until she was whimpering and begging him to finish her. Then he dragged it out a little more, before sending her over the edge.

She screamed his name and then just screamed. As she was coming down, he kissed his way back up her body. She was still breathing heavily and looking a bit dazed when he settled himself over top of her and pressed his erection into her highly sensitized flesh. She nodded and brought his mouth back down to hers as he slid himself inside her. He captured her whimpers in his mouth and kept that contact for as long as he could. He had to break it to moan after Emily shifted, urging him deeper inside her. Their rhythm increased until he couldn't think, he just moved and mumbled something that included repetitions of her name and a whole lot of nonsense. Then she began to cry out his name, and he quickly lost it, cumming inside her.

He pressed his lips to hers before he rolled off of her, and both of them lay on their backs, waiting to catch their breath. Derek's eyes began to close as he regained his senses, but one thought sent them snapping open. "Oh shit."

Emily shift beside him. "What's wrong?"

"I-I didn't use a condom." He never made that mistake. He couldn't remember a single other time in his life when he'd forgotten.

Emily grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. "It's fine, I have an IUD."

He released a breath. "I've never forgotten before. At least not since I was a teenager."

She smirked. "I guess I don't need to ask if it was good for you then."

He chuckled and took the opportunity to shimmy toward her and wrap an arm around her waist. "It was _great_ for me."

He pressed a kiss to her temple and Emily's upturned lips morphed into something nervous. "You know, you don't have to…I can go back—

He didn't let her finish, his lips settling on top of hers. "You're not going anywhere. Believe it or not, Princess, I'm a snuggly kind of guy."

He wasn't always. He wasn't for one-night stands. He wasn't even always for girlfriends. But right now, tonight, with Emily, he wanted to be close to her, as close as she would let him. She gave him a thirst that he hadn't really noticed until they'd been intimate. He wanted to drink her in, and there just didn't seem to be enough of her skin to touch.

She settled beside him, seemingly satisfied that he wanted her there with him. He certainly wouldn't have kicked her out of bed after making love to her. Derek wondered if the asshole, whose name he still didn't even know, had ever kicked her out of bed. He kissed her forehead.

Another thought struck him just as he was about to drift off. "Oh damn it…"

"What's wrong now?" She asked, though there was a trace of humor in her voice.

He cleared his throat. "This is kind of awkward…Clooney is kind of a big baby and he gets lonely. Do you mind of I let him in?"

She tried unsuccessfully to hide just how much that amused her. "Sure, go ahead."

He got up and found Clooney waiting outside the door looking pathetic. He left the door open and walked back to the bed, shaking his head at himself. He climbed into bed and once again moved himself so he and Emily were pressed skin to skin under the sheet. He relished the contact, and brushed his lips over the back of her neck. She intertwined their fingers, and he knew she'd drifted off when her grip on his hand loosened. Derek wasn't far behind.

The text messages started a little after midnight, but the notification tones didn't disturb them enough to wake them up until after one a.m. By then, there were already six messages. After message eleven, Morgan stomped out of bed, noted the same number he'd seen yesterday, and promptly shut her phone off.

When he settled back into bed, Emily was laying still, her eyes wet and shining in the night. "He's never going to let me go."

* * *

Emily blinked her eyes rapidly as the such light pouring in the window bit at her eyes. A glance at the bed told her that she was alone, even Clooney was gone. But the spray of the shower in the bathroom off the master bedroom told her that Derek was still in the house and that he'd already completed his run. She was more than a little embarrassed at having practically begged him last night. And in the light of the morning the bruises that Reece had given her seemed to stand out brighter against her skin, marking her with shame.

Derek knew about everything now, down to the marks on her back from that damn cat-o-nine tails. As if the bruises weren't evidence enough. With a sigh, she pushed herself to a sitting position, taking the sheet with her, her right arm holding it over her breasts. The shower turned off, and Emily tried to figure out what to say to get Morgan to forget about everything. She dropped the sheet and grabbed Morgan's t-shirt from the floor, sliding it over her head. When he walked back into the room, she was sitting on the bed wondering what the hell to do, and he was in nothing but a towel.

"Morning," he said.

"Morning," she responded. Emily bit her lip. "I'm sorry I was such a mess last night."

He stopped shuffling in his dresser drawer and stood straight, his back still to her when he asked, "are you sorry about what happened last night?"

"Between me and you? No Derek, I'm not sorry about that." It sure made for an awkward morning, but she didn't regret spending the night with him.

Morgan's body instantly relaxed and he turned and walked over to her, sitting across from her on the edge of the bed. "Good, I'm not either."

She nodded and looked at her hands. "I'm not...I'm not really in a good place to start anything right now though."

"I didn't imagine you would be," he said, sliding his hand over hers and squeezing it. After a few minutes of silence had passed, Morgan sighed. "Emily, we need to work on getting that guy out of your life."

"I already broke-up with him."

"That's good, but that's not what I mean."

Emily knew exactly what he meant, but she pulled her hand away, straightened her spine and looked anywhere but Morgan. "It's fine."

"Emily, look at your stomach, look at your arms, hell look at your damned back, this is not fine, you are not fine!" He bit his lip after speaking and she could tell that he instantly regretted raising his voice. But it still pissed her off.

"I don't need to look at them, Derek, I can feel them!" She snapped at him. "I know it's not fine, the bastard followed me across the fucking Atlantic to sweet talk me into going back to him and last night I nearly let him! I know it's messed-up, I know I need to get rid of him, but I don't know how! And don't tell me to go to the cops or get a TRO, I already had cops swarming in my house, in my goddamned bedroom! I had to strip down so a forensic specialist and a cop could get pictures of the horror show of bruises you are now intimately familiar with, and I had to tell cops, lawyers and even a judge every humiliating detail of what I let him do to me! And if that wasn't mortifying enough, last night I begged my best friend to have sex with me just so I could feel something other than worthless, because I let Reece make such a mess of my head that that's all I've felt for months!"

By the end of her rant she was off the bed and pacing while she yelled, pouring out the anger and pain she'd been sublimating for months. Her eyes burned and a sob caught in her throat before she choked it out, her hand landing on her mouth. Morgan was in front of her then, his hands soft on her shoulder and waist as he pulled her too him. Emily let him. She buried her face in his shoulder and dug her fingers into the skin of his bare back.

When he spoke, his breath hit her ear before his words. "You are not worthless. I don't care what that son of a bitch has told you, and if you hear nothing else I say, hear at least that, you are not worthless." She felt his lips press against her head. "I know this sucks, Emily, I know that this isn't fair, that if anyone has to suffer through all this shit and feel humiliated and embarrassed that it should be him, not you. But I will be with you every step of the way for all of this, I promise."

She inhaled and then breathed it out. "Fine."

"Good...you know the team could help too, if anyone can figure out a way to get rid of him, its all of us working together."

Emily pressed her body tighter against his, instantly hating the idea of reliving it all in front of the people she loved most in the world, but she knew she'd lost all control over her life and her right to privacy the minute she decided to end things with Reece. It didn't matter what she wanted anymore; what she wanted hadn't mattered in months thanks to Reece. She sighed, "Okay."

She felt Morgan's arms tighten around her. "I hate that you sound so defeated."

"Yeah, me too."

* * *

_So, an entire chapter of Morgan and Prentiss and only Morgan and Prentiss, hopefully that's put a smile on a few of your faces. And the sex is a bit soon and not the healthiest move for Emily to make right now, but all that will be addressed later in the story. Thank you all for reading and thank you everyone that has reviewed so far!_


	7. Chapter 7

Hotch walked into the round table room, where his team already assembled and ready to go for their usual 10 a.m. briefing. The room smelled like coffee. It always smelled of coffee, which helped cover, but never quite succeeded in masking the claustrophobic staleness that always accompanied a lack of windows. JJ and Garcia were teasing Reid, who was babbling inanely about something (something that would no doubt aid them in a case one day), and Rossi was chatting pleasantly with Blake. The two occasionally spared an amused smirk toward the threesome on the other side of the table, but didn't falter in their conversation. If Morgan had been there he'd have been flirting with Garcia and tormenting Reid. But he wasn't and where he was left Hotch feeling all the more reluctant to bring this case to them.

He wondered if they'd finished up at the MPD yet, if they were already at court. Morgan hadn't given him too many details, but it was pretty clear that Prentiss was in serious trouble. Knowing he'd have to tell them sooner or later, he cleared his throat and brought them to instant silence and professionalism. Before he could speak, Garcia offered the remote to him. He waved it away with a hand. "I don't have any documentation on this case yet."

He watched his team members glance at each other, as if checking that that statement was just as usual to them. Dave offered him a patient smile. "Uh Aaron, I don't know how much we can do without any information."

"We should receive at least some information on the case in a few hours."

"It's local then?" JJ asked, her eyes lit with hope.

"At the moment, yes." He paused and took a breath. "It originated in London."

Garcia gasped. "Oh god, that's where Derek is. What happened to Emily?"

The technical analyst had a hand over her mouth and her eyes said it would take less than a poke to send tears running from her eyes. Hotch was quick to reassure her. "She's safe and physically fine. She and Morgan will be joining us later."

Okay, Morgan would be joining them later. He wasn't so sure that Prentiss wouldn't changed her mind about accepting the team's help, as doing so would pretty much strip her of any privacy. And Emily Prentiss was nothing if not private.

"What's going on?" JJ easy demeanor of only minutes ago had gone to rigid and guarded in seconds.

"I don't have any details...were any of you aware that Prentiss was seeing someone?"

"She mentioned someone months ago, but when she stopped mentioning him I figured it didn't work out," Rossi said. The others, save Blake, nodded in agreement.

"Well, she had been seeing someone and it seems that he's been abusing her." He held up a hand at the opened mouths. "I don't know the details or how long, just that he followed her to D.C., has been harassing her via text message and that he got physical with her last night."

"We don't know anything else, a name even?"

Hotch shook his head at Blake, who didn't seem to be bothered by the personal nature of case, and continued explaining, "Morgan and Emily went to file a report at the MPD and then to court to get a TRO. Afterward, they'll hopefully be coming here."

Dave eyed him "Hopefully?"

"Well, you know Prentiss, she values her privacy." He paused. "If Emily agrees to accept BAU help, we'll be working with SSA Trico on BAU III for the risk assessment."

Garcia's distraught gaze went to her laptop, while everyone else just seemed to trying to wrap their heads around the new information. JJ looked particularly troubled, but she didn't say anything. As Hotch's gaze drifted to Reid, who was frowning deeply into his coffee mug, he heard Garcia's computer keys clicking as she typed. He didn't dismiss them immediately, because he wanted to give them time to adjust to the distressing news. Having a bunch of distracted and upset profilers wandering about the BAU was just going to attract attention and distract everyone else.

"Um Sir?" Garcia grabbed his attention, pointing one rose-pink manicured fingernail at her computer. "Clyde Easter is waiting to teleconference with us."

"Put him through," he said, brow wrinkling as he pondered the surprise call. Garcia tapped a few more keys on her keyboard and then pressed a few on the remote and the wall screen suddenly lit up with a very large view of Clyde Easter's office. The wrinkles lining his brow and cradling his frown spoke to deep stresses in his life, and Hotch wondered how much of that was due to Emily's situation.

"Good Evening," Easter caught himself, "Though I suppose that's Good Morning to all of you." Hotch merely nodded his greeting, and noted the rest of the team doing the same. "Emily requested that I furnish your team with copies of the police and court documents."

"That would be helpful," Hotch said.

Dave leaned forward. "Do you know the guy?"

"I met him once or twice. I didn't know what was going on, not until she called me Monday. If I had known what he was doing..." Easters mouth grew impossibly tight and his one visible hand clenched into a fist. "I know some rather creative ways to deal with problematic people."

Hotch did not doubt that the ex-SIS officer knew plenty of ways to kill a person, and he probably knew which ones would hurt the most.

"How long has it been going on?" JJ's voice was quiet, almost gentle compared to their louder voices.

"They were together for almost eight months, and he was physically abusing her for a little over four of those months, though the emotional abuse started earlier."

"What's his name, this guy?" Rossi asked.

"Reece Edwin Walters." Easter hadn't even paused to look it up. He cleared his throat then. "You think you can remove him from and keep him out of her life?"

"Yes," Hotch answered without a thought. They'd find a way, of that much he was certain.

"I'm having my secretary scan the files as we speak, as soon as she's done I'll encrypt the file and send it over." His lips curved into a half-smile. "I was told that Ms. Garcia can crack an encrpyted file in her sleep?"

Garcia straightened up and nodded. "Yes, sir. That's child's play."

He nodded. "I ordered background run on Mr. Walters and a basic report has been completed and will be sent over as well. The full report will take far longer."

Hotch nodded as Dave put a hand up. "You said you found out Tuesday, what spurred Emily into seeking help?"

Easter inhaled and his whole body seemed to tighten. "We had a holiday on Monday. Emily spent the entirety of the holiday weekend from Friday evening through Tuesday morning, trapped in her bedroom, and for large stretches of that time she was confined to a metal dog crate. He kept her naked, except for a choke collar, and when she was disobedient, he punished her. It's all in the report and the accompanying photos."

"Photos?" Hotch asked, already feeling sick at the thought.

"Yes, after she called me I took her too the hospital to document her injuries. Nothing major, though I would say more of her body was black and blue than wasn't. As you can imagine, she didn't get into the dog crate willingly; he had to tackle and manhandle her in. And one of his favorite means of discipline was a satin cat o' nine tails. I'll warn you, the police report is rather disturbing reading material."

"We're used to disturbing material."

"Yes, I imagine you would be, but it's another matter when it's someone you care about, isn't it." None of them commented. "Do you know what disturbs me more than the content of that file?" His eyes had gone unfocused and it was clear he wasn't quite speaking to them anymore. The matter had clearly shaken him, not easy for a seasoned spy, and he was seeing something upsetting in his head. "If Walters had waited six months, maybe even less, before doing this, she might have broken enough to let him get away with it."

* * *

Morgan found the entire process of the cops and courts to be totally exhausting and knew Emily felt it even more intensely than he did. It was her personal life put on display for all to see. And it wasn't over yet. Hotch had texted earlier that Clyde Easter had sent them all the paperwork on the case in London, and he'd made it clear that it was not pretty reading. Derek actually found himself wishing that he could step back and let the others handle the case. Two things stopped him, however. He was the obsessional crimes expert, so his input could be especially useful, and more importantly, he had to see this through. He had to make sure that the bastard would be dealt with and that Emily would be safe and free of him forever.

He still found himself walking into the round table round with considerable trepidation though. Beside him, Emily was as tense as a slingshot poised to fire. The team froze at seeing them, and Morgan noted the look on their faces that said they were hurting for Emily and all desperately wishing that she had reached out to them long before it got so far. He knew the feeling. Garcia was the first to move, pushing herself from her chair and walking over to Emily, her usually bounciness replaced with a redness in her eyes that said she'd spent the last few hours trying not to cry. She wrapped her arms around Emily, and held her for several seconds before pulling away with a sniffle.

"Derek mentioned that he was sending you lots of texts?"

Emily nodded. "Yeah, but it's a secured Interpol phone, so I can't let you hack it. Will forwarding the texts work?"

"Yep. Actually, you can email them to me. I'll show you how."

Emily walked with the tech back to the table. "I have a folder of emails that you should have too. That's in my personal account, so you're welcome to hack it and pull them out."

The two women sat down together and began to work on the technical necessities. Morgan looked over to Hotch, who waved him to follow him out of the room. Once in his office, Hotch closed the door. "How is she?"

"Exhausted, but okay I think. You know Emily though, she could have a gunshot wound and we wouldn't know it until the blood puddled on the floor."

Hotch nodded. "You got the TRO?"

"Yeah, if he comes near her or tries to contact her, we have the paper to lock him up. That's not good enough though. We need to get this bastard away from her and make sure that he stays away."

"The Brits have a pretty good case for assault, rape, even kidnapping, if we can get Emily to press charges."

Morgan physically backed up. "Whoa, kidnapping? Rape? What are you talking about?"

"She didn't tell you?"

"Didn't tell me what?"

Hotch purse his lips, like he was debating divulging the information. "Walters trapped her in her bedroom over a three day weekend, and forced her to spend large stretches of that time locked in a dog crate." Hotch continued to talk, but Morgan felt like he couldn't breathe. After a few minutes, Hotch seemed to realize that Morgan wasn't entirely with him and stopped talking. He sat behind his computer and typed on the keyboard and then gestured Morgan behind the desk. "That's the police report from London. It includes pictures. Read that in here and then hit the heavy bags in the gym."

"What? You want me to hit the gym when I should be here trying to figure a way to get rid of this guy?"

"You're upset and you'll be even more upset when you finish reading that. I can't have you sitting in the conference room like a grenade with a loose pin."

"I'm not going to hurt anyone, Hotch," he snapped, more than a little offended.

"I know that. I'm more concerned about you using the furniture and walls as gym equipment and injuring yourself."

"I'm an adult, I can control my temper."

"JJ and Dave both had to step out after reading through the case materials. Trust me." With that, Hotch disappeared, leaving Morgan to read about the long-term torment of his best friend, of a woman he was almost certainly loved.

* * *

_So there wasn't much Emily in the chapter, but there will be lots of Emily in the following chapter. Thank you all for reading and thank you to those of you who review!_


	8. Chapter 8

_"JJ and Dave both had to step out after reading through the case materials. Trust me." With that, Hotch disappeared and left Morgan to read about the long-term torment of his best friend, of a woman he was almost certainly in love with._

It was a few hours later that Emily found herself the center of attention, the team and Agent Trico with pens poised ready to take notes. They had questions, questions that she was not going to enjoy answering, but it needed to be done. She needed to get Reece out of her life and if there was any way to do that short of killing him, the team would figure it out. That didn't mean that she didn't desperately want to flee from the room though. But she didn't. She sat straight-backed in a chair, her fingers playing over the mug of coffee Morgan had gotten for her. "So, ask whatever you need to," she said.

Agent Trico spoke first."I understand from the documents provided by the British police that you and the subject were together for eight months, and the first time he got violent was four months ago, is that accurate?"

"It is."

The young agent scribbled on her pad. "When did the emotional abuse begin?"

Emily turned her gaze to the glossy surface of the BAU roundtable. Her fingers rubbed the hot ceramic of the mug. She sighed. "Probably about a month before he got violent."

"But you don't remember a specific first occurrence?"

"I didn't view it as emotional abuse back then."

The other woman nodded. "Fair enough."She scribbled again and then looked back at Emily. "When did the sexual abuse begin?"

She could hear the sharpness of her own breath as she inhale. "There wasn't-" She stopped herself, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. "Three months ago, maybe a three and a half."

"Do you recall a specific first incident for that?"

"Yes."

Agent Trico sat silent for a moment, looking at Emily expectantly. "I'm sorry, Emily, could you please describe that incident?"

She ran her tongue over her top lip and tried to ignore all the eyes on her. If she pretended that the team wasn't there, it would be easier to talk about it. "I had come home from work, to my place, and was washing dishes when he got home. He came up behind me, grabbed me around the waist, kissed my cheek and showed me flowers that he had bought for me. Calla Lilies. We talked for a minute, I don't remember what we said, I was still washing dishes. I was still in work clothes, he put his hand up my skirt, slid it along my thighs and tugged on my underwear. I asked him what the hell he was doing. He told me that he missed me, and I joked that we'd woken up together and that surely he could wait ten minutes for me to finish the dishes. He said no. I told him to back off. He pushed me against the sink, hard enough that the edge was digging into my stomach. I told him to stop, to get off me. He said he'd brought me flowers and taken care of me last night, that he just wanted to make love to me, was that too much to ask. I told him to let me finish the dishes. And then we had sex."

The young BAU III agent barely gave her a minute to catch her breath. "You had sex or he forced himself on you?"

Her grip tightened on the mug enough to jostle the coffee inside and she abruptly let it ago. The coffee sloshed around at the abrupt movement but didn't spill over the edge. "I had been trying to wash a wine glass, I dropped it and it shattered in the sink, because I had to grab the edge of the sink to brace myself because he was so..." She shook her head. "Enthusiastic was how he described it the next day."

"Okay, what did he mean when he said that he'd taken care of you the night before?"

"I'd had a nightmare, it was particularly nasty and I was upset when I woke up."

"And he comforted you?" Emily nodded. "He mentioned the nightmares in some of the texts and emails. You have a lot of nightmares?"

"I was in the BAU for six years. You don't make it through the BAU without nightmares." Emily sighed. "And I already had my share going in."

She nodded and turned toward the other members of the team, offering them a chance to ask questions. Being that it would be her name on the profile, they were allowing her to lead the questioning.

Reid drew her attention. "I was reviewing the letters and emails. He uses the endearments "Hinny" and "Love"-"

"Hinny is a British thing, I think it's local. I can't remember exactly from where," she said. It had taken her time to get used to that endearment.

Reid nodded. "I was actually going to ask about the context. I was reviewing the syntax and the tone, and when he uses "Hinny", he seems to be genuinely affectionate. When he uses "Love", there's a hostility to it, even at times a sadistic tone."

"Someone from my past, who tried to kill me," she paused noting the change of expression on her friends faces indicating that they picked up on exactly who she was talking about. Trico looked alarmed, Blake looked a bit surprised, but covered it well. "he used the endearment "Love" and the first time Reece used it I asked him not to and explained why. Now he uses when he wants to upset me."

Reid opened his mouth again, but Trico held up a hand. "Were you in an abusive relationship before Reece?"

"No, and my relationship with the man I just mentioned is classified." The younger woman's eyebrows shot up, but she didn't press further.

Rossi spoke next. He put a photo on the table in front of her. "He sent this to you a couple days ago. Outwardly harmless, but this is the first time I've seen you wear anything that leaves your scar visible."

"Yeah, he convinced me to wear that, said that I looked beautiful."

"It's a claim of ownership, a reminder of painful past events for you and a 'don't forget everything I've done for you'," Hotch said.

Emily nodded. "Yeah."

"How often did he tell you that no other man would want you because of your scars, your baggage?" Hotch asked.

Emily looked down at her hands and tried to swallow down the humiliation of having her most intimate fears exposed. After several silent minutes, she looked up at Hotch. "Every time I went against him on something."

"What about the emails about the cats?" Rossi asked. "I'm guessing he didn't like Sergio?"

Over a week Reece had sent her ten different news stories about dead cats. One story was touching, because the cat had died saving one of her kittens, but it was still a dead cat. "No, he didn't. Sergio has been living with Clyde for the last month and change."

"Easter? He doesn't strike me as a cat guy?" Rossi said.

"He made an exception." She'd been scared and upset when she'd showed up with a bag of litter, a box of food and a carrier of unhappy furball and Clyde had taken pity on her.

The questioning continued on, though Morgan didn't speak and JJ only piped up occasionally. Garcia had asked not to be present, and no one argued with her. She had plenty to keep her busy looking into Reece's past anyway. When they finally finished, Emily felt like she had run ten marathons, she was so exhausted. No, drained. She was completely emotionally drained.

JJ stopped her as she was about to walk through the roundtable room door. "Girl's night at my place tonight?"

"Jayje, I'm-"

"Please?" It was something JJ clearly needed and really, Emily probably needed it just as badly.

"Sure. We better check with Garcia."

"Already cleared it with her."

It didn't really surprise her. JJ walked through the door and went to follow, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. Emily turned as Agent Trico drew her hand back. "I just wanted to say that I'm very sorry for everything that you're going through."

"Thank you, and thank you for writing the profile."

She smiled. "Happy to help. I asked around about you after SSA Hotchner approached me. People had only good things to say, some interesting things, but definitely good things."

"Interesting things? Do I want to know?"

"Well, you know, there's that whole coming back from the dead thing and all."

"Oh, you mean the vampire theory?"

She frowned. "I hadn't heard that one. One of my favorites is the one where you had an affair with some foreign royalty and were spirited away so you could have his lovechild without his family finding out, and oh, my absolute favorite is the one where they have you being temporarily co-opted by the Justice League to fight crime." She shrugged. "I'm a DC girl. They've got Catwoman."

Emily actually smiled. "She does top all the ladies of Marvel, though I am a sucker for the Scarlet Witch."

Trico grinned, her eyes twinkling in surprised delight at Emily's response. "I better go get this written. Take care of yourself, Emily."

Later she rode home with JJ, though they stopped to pick up Henry, who was very excited to see his Aunt Emily, and grab some pizzas. Garcia was meeting them at JJ's place with wine. They chatted lightly while Henry was with them, happily eating his pizza and telling them about everything he'd done that day in school. Emily just as happily read him his bedtime story before returning to the girls.

She stopped in front of them. "I know I should have told you guys what was going on, it's just that..."

"It's hard to talk about?" Garcia supplied.

"It's hard to admit to myself, let alone anyone else. He was a great guy and then he wasn't, and I just wanted to hang onto the great guy part."

JJ gestured her to sit with them again. "Emily, your scars, your nightmares, your baggage, they don't make you worthless or repulsive to any guy. At least any guy who's worth a damn. Don't let that bastard tell you otherwise."

"They certainly don't make us love you less," Garcia added.

Emily nodded, her eyes beginning to burn with moisture. "Thanks."

* * *

Morgan was soaked in sweat and exhausted when he got home. His whole body ached from abusing every muscle he had. He was used to tough workouts, but going to the gym, tussling with a half a dozen cadets and finishing off the night with a long run was a lot even for him. Though it was kind of fun to knock the cocky smiles off some of those cadets' faces. He remembered years ago when Emily used to come and help him with hand to hand training. The first time he'd seen her engage in hand to hand with an unsub, he knew she'd had more than FBI training. The first time he'd brought her to training, he'd picked the biggest, meanest, cockiest looking cadet in the class and told him that he was going to fight her. The guy had had about seven inches and a hundred and thirty pounds on her, but Emily had had him on the mat in under four minutes, her hands positioned to break his neck if he moved. That was definitely not FBI, it was more likely military or as he'd later found out, CIA.

It had been damn fun to watch. And the cadets had a good lesson in not underestimating your opponent. Of course, after that only the ladies wanted to spar with Emily. No guy wants to get his ass handed to him by a woman in public. Of course, that had never stopped him from sparring with her. They were pretty evenly matched and often took turns pinning each other, and they had a great time. He missed that terribly. He sparred with JJ often now, but it just wasn't the same.

He was stretching his body and heading for the stairs when the door opened to reveal a yawning Emily. She stopped at the sight of him and frowned. "Did you only just get back from the gym?"

He shook his head. "I got back earlier, but just went out for a run."

He'd simply been too pissed off and agitated to sit around the house. Running and working himself into exhaustion was the only thing that kept him from tracking down Reece Walters and killing him.

Her frown eased only slightly. "Careful that you don't overdo it, you're not twenty-five anymore."

He smirked. "I'll have you know that earlier tonight I pinned a half a dozen twenty-something cadets to the mats."

Emily smiled. "And you will pay for that in the morning, I'm sure."

He shrugged. "Nothing some stretching and a hot shower won't help." She was right though, he was going to feel it all tomorrow. "You have fun with JJ and Garcia?"

"Yeah, we had a good time."

Silence descended on them for several seconds, until Derek spoke. "Emily, I read the files that Easter sent over."

Her attention dropped to the floor. "I talked about this all day, Morgan. I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"I get that and you don't have to talk anymore. It's just..." He wasn't sure what he wanted to say, so he settled to voicing what he was feeling. "I want to kill that son of a bitch for what he put you through."

Emily didn't say anything, but completely ignoring that he was covered in sweat, moved closer and pressed her body into his, her arms wrapping around him and her head resting against his neck. Derek twisted his arms around her, one enveloping his waist and the other her upper back. He pressed a kiss to back of her head and held her. He didn't want to let her go and she didn't seem to eager to release him either. It prompted him to say, "You can stay with me again tonight...if you want."

She moved her head, resting her chin on his collarbone. "Tempting, but probably better we don't."

"I wasn't talking about sex, Emily."

She tightened her arms around him for several seconds and then backed up. "Again, very tempting, but we probably shouldn't."

He wasn't going to push it further, but felt compelled to ask. "We're still friends though, right?"

Their friendship was not a price that he was willing to pay for one night of passion and comfort. It was far too high a cost.

Emily squeezed his bicep. "Always."

* * *

The next morning when Emily woke-up, she was not alone in bed. Clooney was pressed up against her and his gentle snores put a smile on her face. He wasn't her first choice for companion, but he certainly wasn't a bad one to have. She could smell coffee already made and picked up her watch from the bedside table. It was 8:30 already, Derek would have already left for work to continue brainstorming with Agent Trico and the team ways to get Reece out of her life forever.

She yawned and stretched and wondered what to do with herself for the day. Eventually, she settled for checking in at work and then taking Clooney to the park. Work was fairly easy. Jerome had rescheduled the meeting with the Director from DSGE for the following week and assured her that things were fairly normal on his end. He again asked her what was going on and if she was okay, and mentioned that Clyde was acting particularly surly when she was mentioned, worrying the rest of them. She insisted that everything was fine and told him not to worry. Not that he'd listen.

She then changed into casual clothing and grabbed Clooney's leash. The sight of the leash off the hook had him bounding off the couch and panting in excitement. Emily chuckled. "Easy Clooney, I've got to get the leash on you if we're going to the park."

He stood patiently until she'd clipped the leash on and then immediately bounded for the front door. Emily tugged him back, reminding him that she was in control and then grabbed the set of keys Morgan had lent her and one of Clooney's toys, and opened the door. She loaded the dog into the pick-up truck and drove to the large park. She thought about walking, but Clooney would almost certainly wear himself out playing past his limits. It seemed Derek and Clooney had that in common: forgetting that age gave them limits. She wondered just how sore he was today. Emily smiled as she heard Clooney's tail thumping happily against the backseat.

At the park she tossed a well-chewed red frisbee for Clooney to chase, which he did with unrivaled enthusiasm. After a while, she fixed the leash back on a heavily panting Clooney and they took a break to walk around the park. She spoke to Clooney as they walked, him beside her her, occasionally looking up like he actually knew what she was thinking. "What do you think we should do for dinner tonight? Pasta? Chicken and rice?"

Clooney nuzzled her hand as she puzzled it over. As she rubbed his head, an idea came to her. One night after work they'd grabbed dinner from a Lebanese food truck in the city, before heading over to one of his properties. She'd recommended beef Shwarma (something she'd enjoyed while living in Lebanon with her mother) and he'd loved it. Emily knew just where to go to get prepared meat that she could cook at home.

"Emily!"

Her back stiffened and her hands tightened around Clooney's leash as she stopped and turned toward the voice. She eyed him. "It's over, Reece. Leave me alone."

"You won't even let me apologize?" He threw up in hands in frustration, shaking up the water in the plastic bottle in his left hand.

"It's not necessary." And she wouldn't believe him anyway. The distance, being with the team, that had made that clear for her. "Go back to London," she finally said.

"You're not going to apologize to me?" He asked, eyes cold. For the first time, she noticed the redness along the right side of his face.

"For what?"

"How about scalding me with your hot chocolate for starters?"He gestured to the reddened part of his face. Apparently she had burned him. She wasn't sorry though.

She sighed. "I'm sorry I hurt you, but you hurt me far worse."

"Yeah, right. You've destroyed my life, do you know that?"

"And how did I do that?"

"The police issued a warrant for my arrest, they've been talking to my bosses, they fired me."

"Then you shouldn't have pushed me into needing you in police custody to get away from you."

"That's it then, that's all you have to say?"

She shrugged. "What is it that you want me to say? I did what I had to to get away from you. You didn't give me any other choice."

"And you didn't give me another choice either." Emily frowned, but saw his hand tense on the water bottle and watched him open it.

"Burn for a burn," he said. Her heart thudding in her chest as she realized what he was planning.

Emily flung the frisbee and dropped Clooney's leash, allowing him to tear back into the park after the plastic disk, and then she had only seconds as she turned away. The sudden wetness hitting the back of her shirt and pants started her running. It felt like she'd gotten caught by a sprinkler. It had no scent and she wondered for a minute if it was water and if he was just trying to scare her, then she realized there was another clear liquid that was scentless and yet flammable. Vodka.

Barking made her look behind her. Clooney had realized that something was wrong and he was chasing after them. The glance back also gave allowed her to see Reece with zippo lighter. She turned quickly back around and tried to quicken her pace. She barely registered the ache of the lighter hitting her lower back before her body was engulfed in agony. Emily dropped to the ground and began to roll, trying to put out the flames. She could hear Clooney barking and growling and Reece cursing and yelling at him. Then Reece yelled. People in the park screamed and yelled for help. Clooney yelped.

Emily moaned in pain and screamed when someone threw a blanket over her body to try and smother the fire, pressing into her burned flesh. They were saying that it was going to be okay, that it was over, the fire was out. It still felt like she was burning though. The smell of burnt flesh and singed hair permeated her nostrils, and the knowledge that it was her own burned flesh and her own burned hair turned her stomach.

She turned her head and vomited. Then she passed out.

* * *

_Sorry guys, I was out of town last weekend and I'll be out of town this coming weekend, so updating will be delayed a week again. I'm sorry it just can't really be helped right now. Anyway, thank you all for continuing to read and reviews are always very much appreciated. And happy 4th of July!_


	9. Chapter 9

Morgan leaned back in his chair as he and Reid discussed thoughts about Reece Walters. Garcia was still working on background, Hotch was waiting on a consult from a prosecutor friend, and Blake was conducting a linguistic analysis of the emails. They were all trying to figure out what would make Reece give up on Emily, but former intimate partner stalkers were like cockroaches - nothing short of a nuke would get rid of them. Though Morgan wasn't opposed to strapping Reece to a small nuke and dumping him inside an old mine shaft.

The ringing of his phone brought their conversation to a halt. Morgan sighed and hit the send button bringing the device to his ear. "Morgan."

"Agent Derek Morgan?" A man's voice asked.

"Yes, and this is?"

"Sergeant Matt Sachs with MPD. I got your phone number from your girlfriend-"

Morgan cut him off. "Girlfriend? I don't currently have a girlfriend, Sergeant Sachs."

"Oh uh, dogwalker?"

"Dogwalker?" That confused him even more. Then his heart seemed to tear itself free from his chest and ram itself into his throat. He sat ramrod straight and managed a few words. "Brunette with a pitbull?"

"Yeah, that's her. I just sent her off in an ambulance and the dog was just tranquilized and taken by animal control."

"What? What happened? Clooney would not have attacked her!"

"He didn't attack your friend. We're still investigating, but it looks like he attacked the man who attacked your friend."

Morgan jumped out of his seat. "Attacked her? What? How? What happened?"

"I'm sorry to tell you this, Agent, but the assailant set her on fire."

"What!" His heart was thudding so forcefully in his chest it was physically painful. "Is she alive?"

"Yeah, she's alive. Burned pretty badly, but I don't think fatally."

"What, what hospital?"

"Washington General. They're taking her straight to the burn unit."

"Ok, I'm uh, on my way. Uh, the guy who attacked her, do you have him in custody?"

"No, looks like he got away. I think your dog took a couple bites out of him though, so we've got DNA."

"His name is Reece Walters. He's been stalking her and was abusing her until she left him earlier this week."

"Ok, we'll be sending a detective to the hospital, can you tell him everything you know about that situation?"

"Yeah, of course." Morgan only just then noticed that Reid had left. He ran a hand over his bald head. "Uh, what is going to happen to Clooney?"

"That's your dog?"

"Yeah."

"I couldn't say. But Agent, even though he was defending your friend, he's still a pitbull that attacked someone. And animal control had to sedate him to gain control of him before they took him away, I wouldn't hold out too much hope if I were you."

"Yeah, I get it. Thanks." He hung up the phone, grabbed his things and headed out through the bullpen, where he was stopped by the others, gathered in a circle around Reid and looking frantic.

"Reid said a cop just called you about Emily?" Rossi's question came out as a demand, which was not a good sign for a guy who rarely lost his cool.

"Reece attacked her, he burned her, she's alive at Washington General's burn unit."

* * *

Waiting rooms were the bane of David Rossi's long existence. And he'd already been in them waiting on word about Emily one too many times. The doctors hadn't come out yet to talk to them, though a nurse did appear briefly and tell them that Emily was in surgery. A doctor would speak to them as soon as the surgery was complete. He'd heard that before, and instead of seeing a doctor, a wet-eyed JJ had appeared and told them Emily was dead. Of course, she hadn't actually been dead, and he'd figured out that something was up well before the others. But those words were still painful and this was all too much deja vu.

The rest of the team clearly felt the same. Morgan was pacing like a madman, his hands clenching and unclenching, his jaw tight and eyes heavy with pain. Garcia was watching him, one hand clutching a tissue, the other twinned with one of JJ's. Both had glassy eyes. JJ had stepped out earlier to call Ambassador Prentiss, and had looked exhausted when she'd returned. The politician certainly didn't know that her daughter's boyfriend was abusive, and she probably hadn't even known that Emily had a boyfriend. But that was her own fault. If you aren't a parent when they're young, you can't expect to be a parent when they're grown-up.

Hotch had been on his phone for the majority of the time, calling Easter, Agent Trico to update the profile, local PD and FBI and Interpol management. It did not look good for the FBI that someone had attempted to murder an Interpol Bureau Chief (and daughter of a diplomat) right under their noses. Sure, they didn't have a protection detail on her, but they were handling her case. MPD had egg on their faces as well. But really, stalkers, even former intimate partner stalkers, did not usually escalate so fast. The FBI and MPD needed to find Reece and do it quickly. A large part of Rossi (and he bet Hotch too) wanted to join in on that chase, but right now, they had more important places to be.

Reid was sitting silent and pensive next to Blake. He hadn't spoken a word or moved a muscle since they'd arrived and Rossi had a good idea about why. He was just focusing on holding himself together. He wondered how badly Reid wanted Dilaudid, how much willpower it was taking for him not to run out and get some as the painful memories crashed over him. Blake had taken his had earlier and continued to hold it. Reid continued to remain still.

"Emily Prentiss?"

All heads shot toward a woman in scrubs. Red hair was anchored to her head in a bun and minimal make-up complemented the natural beauty of her face, though her eyes were tired. Hotch shut his phone off and hurried back over to join them. The doctor eyed them. "You're all here for Emily?"

"We are," Hotch confirmed.

She nodded. "Andrea Weil, I'm the attending in charge of Emily's care. The surgery went well and we successfully removed the dead tissue and applied cadaver tissue to the worst areas-"

"Oh my god," Garcia blurted. "Cadaver, as in dead body? You put dead body skin on her?"

"It's standard burn treatment, Garcia," Reid said. "It's just until they can do graphs with her own skin."

Penelope still looked horrified. The doctor continued. "Her less severe burns were treated with Silvadene cream and dressings. The burns are concentrated on her back, butt, scalp and neck area and the backs of her arms and legs. Most of it is second degree, with patches of third degree on her middle and upper back, which is probably where the accelerant landed. She's being settled into her room now, and we'll be starting her on antibiotics and morphine."

"Can we see her?" JJ asked.

The doctor nodded. "There are a couple detectives waiting to get a statement after she wakes up and you can go in after them. But, like I told the detectives, keep it brief. She just suffered a major trauma and went through major surgery, and is in a tremendous amount of pain."

They nodded and Hotch spoke again. "Doctor Weil, Ms. Prentiss is a Bureau Chief with Interpol London, and her attacker followed her from London, so the FBI willing be placing agents outside her room. These agents will accompany her wherever she goes in the hospital."

"I'll inform the staff. If you provide our security supervisor with a photo of her attacker, our guards can be on the lookout as well. And access to the burn unit is restricted anyway, so she should be safe here."

"Thank you." She nodded and disappeared down a hallway, leaving them to wait again.

A phone gave a ding, sending them all scrambling for their phones, but JJ was the winner. She began to frown as she read, then she looked at Hotch. "The Press picked up the story and they have Emily's name. Once they find out her position in Interpol, the story is going to be big, especially if they find out that her mother is a diplomat."

"Emily is going to love that." Rossi sighed. He hated the fucking press, even when they'd helped his career he'd hated them. "If they do background on her, we could have a problem."

"Problem? What problem?" Garcia said.

Hotch answered before he could. "They reported her death three years ago."

It was a small story and Emily hadn't garnered press attention since, but it wouldn't take much for a reporter to Google her and then wonder what the hell was going on. Hotch addressed JJ. "Keep an eye on it, when it becomes a problem, we'll issue a statement."

They waited for another ten minutes, until a man and a woman in suits walked out of the Burn Unit and made straight for them or rather Morgan. The man spoke first. "Agent Morgan, I'm sorry we couldn't stop him before it came to this."

Morgan nodded. "You only got the case yesterday, wasn't a whole lot you could do...Did you see her?"

The woman spoke. "Yeah, she confirmed that it was Reece Walters that burned her."

"I'm about to call the ADA for a warrant. We've already got people out looking for him," the man said.

"Well, I believe the Bureau is about to extend it's resources." He turned toward Hotch.

"Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief of the BAU," Hotch said, extending his hand. "I've spoke to Interpol. The Bureau will handle Bureau Chief Prentiss' protection. We also have a profile of Walters and will aide in his capture in anyway you need."

"We'll put you in touch with our Lieutenant, she can coordinate with you. But I imagine you'd all like to see Ms. Prentiss first." The man stepped to one side and nodded them down the hall.

Six of them headed down the hallway, Blake staying behind with the detectives. Rossi found himself having to force his feet to move as they got closer. He wanted to see Emily, see that she was okay, but coward he was, he didn't want to see all the damage. He'd seen burn victims before, and it was not an experience he was eager to repeat. Seeing a friend, someone he loved, suffering through that, it was almost more than he could stomach. But he did, putting a gentle hand on JJ's back when she hesitated at the door. Garcia was already clinging to Morgan, who held her, but seemed to barely notice her. They donned protective gear, plastic yellow gowns and gloves, helping each other tie off the gowns.

Then they were inside a room that reeked of antiseptic and the bitter char of overcooked meat. Emily was on her side, facing the door. Her beautiful face was unmarked, but bandages were visible on the sides of her neck as well as on both arms. The hospital gown hid any damage that might have been done to her torso, but the white of more gauze peaked out from the bottom hem, showing where they'd covered the burns on her thighs. Only one of her calves had a bandage. As he stepped closer he noted that her dark hair was singed and toward the back close to her neck it looked like it burnt down to the scalp.

"Hi," she managed. Her voice low and raspy. A nasal cannula pushed oxygen into her nose, an IV line emerged from the catheter taped into the underside of her right elbow and wires that disappeared underneath her gown monitored her heart, blood pressure and temperature.

Morgan went over to her first and they had a short whispered conversation before he spoke one word loud enough that Dave heard. "Always."

They took turns, each painfully quick. Dave saw the pain in her eyes and the trembling of her lips. He turned to the nurse in the room with them, who was preparing a syringe. "You didn't give her the morphine yet?"

"We had to wait until the detectives finished, and then she insisted I wait until she saw all of you."

Rossi shook his head. "Of course she did."

After the team finished and shuffled out, Rossi plopped himself in the chair beside the bed. "What are you doing?" Emily asked, her voice still so soft, so fragile.

"They have plenty of people looking for Reece. And I think it's more important for me to be here." He saw the nurse pushing the morphine into her IV out of the corner of his eye and settled himself in a comfortable position. He wanted to hold her hand, but he was afraid that any touch would jostle her and cause her pain. So he settled for smiling at her. "Rest now, Emily."

The tension, the struggle to remain strong and to hide the pain, seemed to leave and her eyelids fluttered as she allowed the morphine to take her away.

* * *

_So, many of you were surprised and a little disturbed by this turn of events, understandably, of course. I love Emily, I'd never want to see her hurt this way, but I'm familiar with various examples of former intimate partners burning their ex-wives and girlfriends with fire or acid, and I guess I just needed to get that awfulness out of my head. So there you have it. Anyway, thank you all for reading and all reviews are always appreciated, even if I don't get to respond personally to them._


	10. Chapter 10

"Hotch, we just got a hit at Alexandria Hospital. They just had a guy complaining of dog bites walk in." JJ walked back into the conference room. "Alexandria PD and MPD are already in route."

"That's smart," Reid said. "He knew we'd look at DC hospitals."

"He had to figure we'd look in Maryland and Virginia, why not just get supplies at a drug store? The paramedic said the bites didn't look that bad." Morgan asked.

"He's a narcissist," Hotch said. "He doesn't want scars."

Morgan snorted, his jaw tense. "Like the ones he just gave Emily."

Garcia rubbed Morgan's shoulder and he relaxed a bit, but Hotch could still see the anger burning inside him. He could sympathize, he wanted the bastard caught too. Morgan shook his head and cleared his throat. "I'm going over there."

Morgan pushed his chair back and stood up, taking only one step before Hotch held out a hand stopping him. "Hotch," he began to object.

"You can go, take Blake or Reid with you, but you do not have any contact with Reece Walters, understand?" The last thing they needed was Walters's attorney accusing them of biased treatment or impropriety or even worse, threatening them with a law suit or assault charges.

Morgan nodded and opened his mouth, but was distracted by Garcia's sharp inhale. Hotch turned with him to look at the tech, her hand already covering her mouth. "Garcia?"

She turned toward then, away from her screen. "People filmed it."

"Filmed what?" Morgan said.

"Reece attacking Emily."Both men moved at the same time, JJ, Reid and Blake following them to crowd around Garcia's screen.

"It looks like more than one person filmed it and put it up on YouTube."

"Trace the accounts, Garcia. The prosecutor is going to need the original footage." She nodded and clicked on the longest video, which picked up as Walters was squirting a liquid onto Emily's back as she turned away from him. Within seconds he'd lit a zippo and thrown it at her. You didn't even see it make contact with her body, because she went up in flames with a loud whoosh. The people behind the camera phone could be heard speaking loudly and panicking. One of them was heard calling 911, the other was mostly cursing.

Emily dropped to the ground and rolled around trying to put herself out. She screamed. It wasn't a frightened movie scream either, it was the kind of scream one would expect to find in Hell's torture chambers. A man ran on camera with a blanket and tossed it on her, a female came from a different direction with another blanket. A dog began to bark off camera. Together they covered Emily with the blankets and smothered the flames. Those two people probably saved her life. The camera moved from the moaning lump of blanket to to a man shouting and cursing at a dog, a pitbull that was growling at him and attacking him. Reece's bloody leg showed where Clooney had already gotten him. Clooney leapt up then and sunk his teeth in Walters's right thigh, very close to his penis and testicles. No wondered he'd gone to a hospital for sutures.

Sirens screamed in the background and the camera swiveled again to show approaching police and then swiveled back to show Walters gone and Clooney standing beside Emily, whining, the fur around his muzzle covered in blood. The video then shut off.

Hotch turned to JJ. "Would you contact the MPD and see if they are aware of this footage, and tell them that we're tracing it?"

She was unusually pale though and she only barely nodded when she clasped a hand over her mouth and took off out of the room. He looked back at Garcia. "Would you go check on her please?"

Garcia nodded and followed after JJ without a word. Hotch looked at Morgan. "We'll handle this, call me when they have him in custody. Take Reid with you."

He nodded and they left, leaving only Blake and himself. Hotch moved away from the horror show on the screen and sank into a chair. He could feel Blake eying him. "You okay, Hotch?" she asked.

"We should have been able to protect her from this, I should have been able to protect her from this." They should have plucked Walters office the streets, they could have held him for 48 hours before they had to charge him with something. They should have moved Emily to a safe house and had agents guarding her around the clock. She was a Bureau Chief in Interpol, he could have talked the brass into it. Even if he couldn't, he could have asked Easter to organize protection for her.

"This isn't your fault. No one expected him to escalate this fast. Even Emily didn't see this coming," Blake said, though her words didn't offer him much comfort.

* * *

When they arrived at the hospital, they parked among the half dozen Alexandria PD RMPs and one MPD RMP, which was parked near an unmarked sedan that he'd bet were the detectives assigned to the case. He and Reid jumped out and flashed their badges at the security guard who approached them. He immediately dropped his hands and said, "You guys here about the guy with the dog bites?"

"Yes, what's the status on him?" Morgan asked.

"Don't know. We're in lockdown, I'm out here to make sure no one gets in or out."

Morgan nodded and then took off for the door, Reid right behind him. They held up their badges as they jogged toward the emergency room, following the signs posted on the walls. When they got close, they followed the sounds of cops shouting to a hallway leading out of the emergency room, where they found several cops with their guns drawn and too tackling a man who wasn't wearing any pants.

"Stop resisting! Damn it, stop resisting!" A young cop had a knee pushed into the man's back and was trying to pull his arms together to handcuff them. A second cop struggled to help his partner get control of the prisoner.

The second cop hissed. "You stupid motherfucker, we have you surrounded, you can't get away! Stop fighting us!"

A third cop, a female, holstered her weapon and approached the thrashing mess on the floor. She took the handcuffs from the second cop and handcuffed the thrashing man while the two male cops held him down. The man still fought.

The female cop leaned close and spoke to the man. "If you don't stop resisting we have to classify you as EDP and shove you into a burrito bag. Knock it the fuck off."

The man gave who last violent shake and then stilled on the floor. The female cop moved over to another uniformed officer. "You have leg irons in your car?"

"Yeah."

"Go get them."

The officer nodded. "On it Sarge."

The officer took off and the Sergeant headed toward where male and female cop stood. She spoke a few words and when they nodded toward himself and Reid, she walked over to them. She held out a hand. "Sergeant Molly Tiernan."

"SSAs Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid," Morgan gestured to himself and Reid.

"The detectives mentioned that his victim was one of yours?"

Morgan nodded. "She was my partner for six years."

Tiernan frowned. "They say if she'll make it?"

"It looks good."

"Good. As soon as the doctors patch him up, we'll send him back to DC with MPD and a couple of my guys to back them up. We still might transport him as an EDP."

"You think he's emotionally disturbed?" Reid asked.

"He's something, I'll tell you that. We're not pulling him off the floor until he's in leg irons."

Morgan considered that. Walters losing his grip on reality certainly fit with his attack on Emily. It seemed to be an unusually large jump from minor physical abuse to a near-fatal attack. Though if he thought he was losing control of Emily that might have been enough to push him into attempted murder. He thanked the sergeant and walked over to Reece, who appeared to have calmed down somewhat.

"Reece Walters," he said. Walters turned to him, his head forced to move slowly while the officers held him down. His nose wrinkled and his top lip flared at the sight of Morgan.

"Derek Morgan." Walters practically spat Morgan's name.

"Wish I could say it was a pleasure."

"Is she dead?"

His high class British accent made him sound refined and educated, but that didn't change what he was, didn't make him any less of a monster. "No, she's not."

Walters grunted. "No one will have her now anyway, she'll always be mine."

Morgan shook his head. "She stopped being yours the minute she got on the phone and called for help. And she'll never be yours again."

"You really think any man would touch her now, with all those ugly scars? All the _new_ scars, I should say."

Morgan stared at the man in total disgust. Then he sighed and leaned very close, so he was practically on the floor beside the man and he spoke quietly, his voice measured. "I expect you'll be released on parole before any of us are dead, so let me give you this warning. You keep your distance. If I get so much as of whiff of you near Emily, I will empty the clip of my Glock into your chest. I don't care if I go to prison."

He pushed himself up and spoke at a normal level. "With scars or without, she still beautiful, Walters."

Then he turned and walked back to Reid, listening as Walters began to renew his struggles against the officers.

Walters was in custody and surrounded by police and Emily was safe at the hospital, there wasn't much left for them to do. As much as Morgan would have liked to personally drag Walters to jail, he knew he couldn't do that, not if Reece was going to be convicted. He sighed, "Come on, Reid, I have to see if I can get Clooney out of doggie jail."

* * *

_So, this part probably came as a surprise to many of you, as I know some of you were expecting/hoping for a big take-down scene with Morgan beating Reece within an inch of his life. But that's not really my style. That said, this story is far from over, there will be more hostile Morgan, more M/P and Emily dealing with her injuries and Reece-induced trauma. _

_And, I'm not sure if I mentioned it in a previous chapter but MPD is DCPD, they call themselves MPD (Metropolitan PD). Also, a burrito bag is a restraining bag that covers everything buy your face (mesh covering over face) that they use on EDPs when the police need to get control of them.  
_

_Thank you for reading and reviewing!_


	11. Chapter 11

Hotch sat in a small conference room with their Bureau Chief and Assistant Director Prescott, who was in charge of all of the NCAVC. A large flat screen sat on the wall at one end of the room showed them an angry Clyde Easter in Britain with a young dark-skinned and baggy-eyed man that Hotch wasn't familiar with. Hotch introduced his superiors.

Easter barked a response back at them. "Clyde Easter, Director of Interpol London, and this is Jerome Wallace, he's Emily's second in command. What's her status?"

Hotch spoke. "It hasn't changed. She's stable and being monitored."

"Have you seen her?" Wallace asked. The weight and sadness in his eyes wasn't dissimilar to what he saw in his teams' eyes.

"I have, and she was in a lot of pain but fighting." The younger man nodded in response.

Easter spoke. "You've organized protection for her?"

"There are two agents outside her hospital room."

Prescott cleared his throat. "They'll remain there until Walters is arraigned. If they remand him, which we're hoping that they do, she won't need the protection anymore."

"He's a British citizen, a clear flight risk, I assume they would remand him," Easter said.

Hotch cleared his throat. "Either way, I'd prefer if we left at least one agent outside her room until she is out of the hospital, if for nothing else than just to discourage curious members of the press." If Prescott said no, Hotch would just have the members of his team rotate at her beside. They'd probably be doing that anyway.

"I second that request," Easter said. "The woman is in agony, the last thing she needs is press crawling up her ass."

Prescott nodded. "We'll make arrangements."

"There is one other concern with the press," Hotch said. "It's only a matter of time before one of them finds a three year-old article announcing her death. We need to have a statement ready."

"Her death?" Wallace gaped.

"That is a long story that is above your security clearance, Wallace," Easter told him.

Prescott leaned forward slightly. "We'll tread close to the truth without giving anything away. She was involved in a highly classified matter and the need came up to fake her death. After several months, she was able to return to her life. Anything beyond that is classified."

Hotch turned to Easter for confirmation. The Brit nodded. "That's fine."

Wallace spoke then. "There's no chance of this bastard getting out of the attempted murder charge, is there?"

"It was captured on video by nearby civilians."

"Somehow that makes me relieved and nauseated all at once," Easter said. None of them disagreed.

They talked for several more minutes until the conversation began to wind down. Hotch assured Easter that he would keep him updated. Easter said that he would fly to D.C. some time in the next few days. He suggested the other man not rush, as Emily was knocked out on painkillers and probably would be for a couple of days at least. When they finished, he returned to his office feeling absolutely drained.

This should not have been allowed to happen. That's what he kept telling himself, but he couldn't think of a single way that they could have prevented it.

* * *

"Regardless of anything, we have to keep him here for ten days. It's standard to quarantine dogs after they bite someone to make sure they aren't rabid," John Collins, the animal control officer told him.

"Okay, and after the ten days?"

"You said that this is the first time he's ever bitten someone?"

Morgan nodded. "He's a friendly, well-trained dog."

He and Reid were in Collins' very small and very cramped city office that came with barely functional air-conditioning and stale, musty-smelling air. Morgan could deal with a ten-day quarantine. He didn't like it, but he'd deal with it. As an FBI agent, he was all too familiar with the joys of standard procedure.

"Under normal circumstances and after a call to your vet, we'd let you take him home. However, your dog's case was elevated to a dangerous dog investigation. I need to wait for the police report before we determine anything."

"The SOB he bit was just arrested for attempted murder. Clooney attacked the guy, because he attacked my friend. Clooney was just protecting her."

"I understand that, and I do believe you, but I need the police report to confirm that. See, from the amount of blood on Clooney when we brought him in that wasn't a small bite, that was some pretty aggressive biting. And my guys had to sedate him to get him into a cage. Not to mention that he's a pitbull, that's a breed that you don't dick around with."

Morgan sighed in frustration, but a hand on his armed stopped the angry torrent that wanted to erupt from his mouth.

"Officer Collins, if the police report corroborates that Clooney was acting in defense of a human being when he bit Mr. Walters, that would alleviate your concerns regarding the aggressiveness of the bite?"

"Kid, if that report corroborates that your friend's dog attacked a guy who was trying to burn a woman death, I'll pin a medal on him myself."

"It will," Morgan said.

Reid held a hand at him. "I've never owned a dog, but a dog being highly aggressive when it's master is in danger isn't unusual is it?"

"I once had to quarantine a toy chihuahua that tore a hefty chunk out of a guy that tried to grab the nine year-old girl that was walking the dog. So no, it's not usual for any type of dog."

"Clooney is a dog, he probably wouldn't have understood that the police and paramedics were helping Emily. He was probably trying to protect her until Derek got there."

"I'm sure he was. My guys said he was as scared and upset as he was angry." Collins took a breath. "Listen, I'm not saying that we're going to put down your dog. But we need to do an investigation before I can send him home. And unless you can light a fire under the MPD's collective ass, it's going to take more than ten days. Cops are slow as hell with paperwork."

Morgan ran his hands over his bald head. "Can I go see him?"

"He's in quarantine at the DCAL shelter and they won't let you touch him, so it's probably best if he doesn't see you."

"Yeah, you're right."

"For now you just have to wait. One of my investigators will contact you for a statement some time in the next week. Your friend that was attacked, is she up for being interviewed?"

Morgan shook his head. "Not for a few days at least. They have her on morphine, the burns were pretty bad."

"Alright, we'll just have to wait then and that's going to delay the investigation too. But uh, let me give you my card. You have questions, you can call me. And if you don't hear from the investigator in a week, you call me and I'll go breathe down their neck. Okay?"

"Yeah, thanks man."

* * *

Garcia tied the plastic gown around her waist and neck before slipping on the latex gloves provided to her, working the plastic onto each finger. She had finished compiling all her research on Reece Druitt, the teams notes, police reports, medical reports and Agent Trico's profile into the Bureau's digital case database, and had gotten in her car and driven straight to the hospital. Agent Trico's profile had been chilling, but the photos of Emily's injuries, both the burn wounds and the previous injuries had become in serious challenge to maintaining her composure. Even when the burn wounds healed, she was going to have a lot of scars.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and found Rossi right where they had left him. He looked up at her from the chair beside the bed and tried to smile, but even Rossi couldn't manage a smile now. Garcia stayed by the door, but let her eyes go toward Emily. The profiler turned bureau chief was asleep, turned on her side facing Dave, with wires seeming to come from everywhere monitoring things that Garcia could only guess at. A nasal cannula brought oxygen to through a tube that connected to something in the wall and an IV tube deliver the contents of two plastic bags to the catheter in Emily's arm.

Penelope looked back at Dave. "How is she?"

He shrugged. "Same. The morphine is keeping her out mostly, so she's at least not in any pain."

She nodded and sniffled. "Does he really hate her this much?"

"It's not about hate." He nodded to Emily. "This was about power. He chose fire, because he knew even if she were to live, it would severely and permanently scar her. Whenever she sees those scars, she'll think of him."

"Bastard," Garcia spit, earning a surprised look from Rossi. Normally Garcia used very little profanity, but Reece Druitt deserved every nasty word she could imagine.

"Don't worry, he'll get what's coming to him."

"Worse if they let Derek near him."

Rossi smiled. "If it wouldn't get Morgan in trouble, I'd be the first to advocate for giving him a few minutes alone with Reece."

"They picked him up already. He went to a hospital in Alexandria for treatment for the dog bites."

"Good, let's hope he gets a _really fun_ cell mate."

Garcia finally moved toward the bed. Emily's skin looked an almost greyish pale, and even her pink lips seemed to have lost their color. She extended a hand toward Emily's but stopped, her hand hovering in the air as her eyes traced over her friend's figure. Finally she drew it back, pushed her glasses up with a finger and tried unsuccessfully to stop the whimper of emotion from escaping her mouth.

"Garcia?"

She turned back to Rossi, already feeling the liquid build in her eyes. "I want to hold her hand or squeeze her shoulder or something so she's knows that I'm here, but I, I don't know where I can touch her without causing her more pain."

Rossi got up from the chair then and put his arms around her. His gentle touch annihilated her attempts to maintain her composure and she began to cry into his blazer.

"She'll be okay, Kitten." He said.

Their tender moment was interrupted with a knock at the door and throat clearing. They separated and Garcia looked over to see the police officer who'd been standing guard outside. "Uh, can you guys step out here for a minute. I think we might have a problem."

Rossi immediately pushed Garica behind him, his body going tense as he headed toward the door, and he flicked off the button that held his weapon in his holster. The officer waved a hand. "Not that kind of problem, sir."

His body relaxed and Garcia followed him out of the hospital room. Outside were two more officers helping each other put on yellow gowns. Rossi cleared his throat. "Officers?"

"Dunworth and Pilar, Sir. We've been instructed to arrest Ms. Prentiss for assault."

"And who did she supposedly assault?" Rossi asked.

"Reece Druitt. She dumped hot coffee on him or something."

* * *

_So not much Emily in this chapter or the last, but she's doped up on painkillers at the moment, so there's not much she can do. However, I'll be skipping ahead a week or so in the next chapter, so she'll be conscious and lucid and interacting with other characters. Thanks as always for reading and reviewing!_


	12. Chapter 12

Morgan nodded to the passing nurse as he slipped inside the hospital room, noting Emily with her head down staring mournfully at the dinner the nurse had dropped off. She'd been taken off morphine yesterday evening and switched to something a little lighter that allowed her to be more cognizant. It had been four days since she was admitted and the doctors said that as long as she didn't come down with an infection and her burns continued to heal at the same rate, she'd been able to go home in a couple days. But she was still in a lot of pain, no matter how she sat or laid.

"Hey," he said, pressing a kiss to an unburned part of her head before sliding into the chair beside the bed. "What did they bring you for dinner tonight?"

"Processed turkey, some sickly-looking mashed potatoes, over-cooked green beans and I don't know what this is, some sort of crumb dessert?"

"Well, I guess as long as the medical treatment is good you can forgive gross food."

She nodded. "Yeah, I've eaten worse. I'm just not that hungry."

"Come on now, if you don't eat those doctors will never let you leave." He tried to appeal to her loathing of hospitals. He knew her lack of appetite was due partly to the pain and partly to just being miserable being stuck in the hospital and though he was reluctant to admit it, partly to a little depression.

Emily sighed and reluctantly spooned some of the mashed potatoes in her mouth. The handcuffs prevented her from using her dominant right hand, and the IV stuck in her left hand made the process all the more difficult. No wonder she didn't want to eat.

After much objection from several FBI agents and a long discussion with the DA, they were able to determine that the arrest was just a formality. The DA's office couldn't appear biased, so they arrested Emily and spoke to the ADA assigned to the case, they'd more than likely choose not to prosecute, seeing as how it was self-defense. There would only be a problem if the ADA decided it wasn't self-defense. Derek wasn't worried though, they had ample proof that Reece was a danger to Emily.

He watched her reluctantly swallow down some turkey, her face twisted in a grimace the whole time. "If you want I could do it for you, I'd do the airplane noises and all," he teased.

She actually smiled. "That means you also have to taste it yourself and pretend it's actually delicious."

He considered that and then grabbed her fork, grabbed a small piece of turkey and some potatoes and put it in his mouth. "Hmm, that's delic-" He couldn't even finish, he was too busy trying to gag the food down.

Emily laughed at him, and that was worth him choking down whatever horrible food the hospital could come up with. He managed to swallow. "Your turn now." He handed her the fork.

She took it back and with her nose scrunched up and brows furrowed scooped more food into her mouth.

"When I come by tomorrow I'll sneak you in some condiments."

"I don't think salt and pepper could save this mess."

"Well then maybe I'll just sneak you in some chocolate." At that her eyes lit up and Morgan grinned widely. He was definitely bringing her some chocolate.

She continued to carefully feed herself, mindful of the IV line, but her face grew serious and the fork eventually settled back on the plate. "The animal control investigator came today." Morgan didn't say anything, but leaned with his arms on his thighs. "Why didn't you tell me what was going on with Clooney?"

"I'm taking care of it. I'm glad he came already, that means he's already started the investigation."

"She." Emily bit her lip. "Derek, I'm so sorry. I tried to get him out of harms way, but he came back and by then..." She trailed off, her brown eyes shimmering.

"Hey, hey," he said taking her cuffed hand. "This is not your fault. The only person to blame here is Reece."

"But if I hadn't had Clooney with me, he-"

Morgan cut her off. "I'm glad you had him with you, I wanted you to keep him with you. Hell, I told Clooney to keep you safe. Does that make it my fault?"

"Only if your dog understands English."

He chuckled. "Only selectively." He squeezed her hand. "Besides, Clooney is going to be fine. The animal control guy said if Clooney was protecting you they wouldn't consider him a dangerous dog."

"Yeah, that's what the investigator said."

Derek nodded. "Alright, now that that's sorted, you need to finish your dinner or the nurse is going tell on you to the doctor."

Emily sighed and went back to eating. After she finished, he moved the tray and helped her roll onto her side, which was more comfortable for her than sitting up straight. But she tired out easily now and it wasn't long before her eyelids began to flutter. She tried to fight it, but Morgan spoke to her in low tones and managed to sooth her to sleep. He then sat back, still holding her hand, and watched her silent form.

* * *

"Docket ending 3751, People vs. Reece Walters, one count assault with intent to kill, one count assault with stalking, one count stalking and one count maliciously disfiguring," the court bailiff droned as if it weren't as horrific as it actually was.

Rossi wondered if that's how he sounded when he spoke about dismemberment, vicious rapes, and frightening numbers of stab wounds. After so many years doing that work, discussing victims with limbs hacked off and eyes gouged out was as normal as discussing ice cream flavors. That bothered him and he wondered if it bothered the young, female bailiff deferring to the judge. Probably not, the working class don't have the option to be bothered by such things. You get a job and you do it, and maybe in forty years she could retired and stop thinking about battered and disfigured women.

The judge looked up from her papers and eyed the defense table. "How do you plead, Mr. Walters?"

"Not guilty," Reece replied, the epitome of good manners as he stood in a clean, pressed suit and enunciated his words precisely. The English accent certainly didn't hurt. Rossi wished there was an x-ray that could show just how ugly and violent Reece was underneath all his etiquette and breeding.

The judge barely noticed him as she sorted through the pages on her desk. "Thoughts on bail, counselors?"

"We ask for remand, Your Honor," DA Beam quickly responded. "Mr. Reece is a British national with no ties to D.C. He's a clear flight risk. Further, he followed the victim across the ocean and a TRO didn't stop him from viciously attacking her. The People feel that remand is the only way to assure Ms. Prentiss's safety."

The judge turned from the DA to Reece and his attorney, George Daniels. "Counselor, any reason that I shouldn't remand your client?"

"He is tied to D.C., through Ms. Prentiss. He isn't going to leave his girlfriend after she was so viciously attacked, Your Honor. And while he did follow Ms. Prentiss to the US, he did so out of a sense of romance. He jumped on a plane so he could apologize in person."

"Your Honor that is a load of BS. Among the materials you were given, you'll see police reports and restraining orders from both D.C. and London. Furthermore, there is video of the defendant lighting the victim on fire and numerous photos taken by both the police in London and MPD here documenting the injuries inflicted on Ms. Prentiss by the defendant. Not to mention that Mr. Walters continues to harass the victim by insisting that the DA prosecute for assault."

The judge looked straight at Reece. "Ms. Prentiss assaulted you?"

Daniels put a hand on Reece's arm and spoke for him. "Ms. Prentiss doused my client with hot chocolate. He has every right to request that she be prosecuted for that offense."

Beam seethed. "She did it to get away from Mr. Walters, who was holding her so tightly at the time he bruised both her arm and her back."

"Objection! Your Honor, Mr. Walters hasn't been convicted for any of these alleged assaults on Ms. Prentiss."

"Yet," Beam practically snarled at Daniels.

The judge held up her hands to quiet them. "Enough. Based on the materials in front of me, I'm going to grant the People's request for remand. You can revisit the issue of bail with the trial judge, Mr. Daniels."

Rossi hung his head and damn near sighed in relief. Emily would be safe now, at least as long as the trial judge denied any bail requests. He pulled out his cell phone and texted the team the good news, his fingers moving as rapidly as his brain could cope with the technology. As convenient as texting was, he really missed just being able to talk on the phone.

His attention was drawn to the prosecutor leaning across the aisle toward Daniels. Beam said, "If you have some time now, we'd like to discuss the possibility of a plea."

Daniels nodded. "I'll be at your office in ten minutes."

Beam then took off out of the courtroom and Rossi hurried to follow. He managed to catch-up to the other man after he'd crossed the street and was steps from entering the building that housed D.C.'s district attorneys. He grabbed the other man's arm. "Excuse me, ADA Beam."

Beam turned. "Yes?"

Rossi pulled out his credentials. "SSA David Rossi, I'm a friend of Emily's. I heard you mention the possibility of a plea to Walters's attorney?"

Beam eyed him. "Why don't you come with me to my office, I can answer your questions there."

Rossi followed the lawyer up to the ninth floor and a modest though surprisingly homey office. Beam gestured to a chair in front of the desk and sat behind it. "I assume you already know the basic rationale behind offering a plea?"

"I do. Save some money and avoid Emily having to testify." Rossi wasn't opposed to the latter at all, but he didn't want Walters getting off with a couple of years. "What are you prepared to offer?"

"We drop the current charges against him and settle for aggravated assault. He'd serve at max ten years."

"What's the minimum?"

"There isn't one. But part of the deal would be him serving 7-10 years. He will do time, Agent Rossi."

Dave shook his head and offered a mirthless chuckle. "And with good behavior, he'd be out in five. That isn't long enough. He'll come after her again. With what you've charged him with he could serve up to 30 years. And with the evidence as strong as it is, why would you deal?"

"Because the bastard is suave and charming and good-looking and with the British accent, the jury will be thinking that he's Colin Firth. And because, in case you haven't noticed, the economy is shit, we're getting pressure to save money wherever possible."

"I get what you're saying, Counselor, believe me I do. But that sonofabitch terrorized her in London, chased her over a goddamned ocean, terrorized her over here and then _lit her on fire_."

A knock at the door startled them both, and Dave turned to see Daniels. He pushed himself out of the chair with a sigh, shook both their hands, leaving a card with the ADA and left. There really was a special place in hell for lawyers.

* * *

_Thank you all so much for continuing to follow this story. I'm going to be taking a break for a month or so while I finish up my other story, but as soon as that's done, I'll be updating this story again and on a weekly basis. Reviews always appreciated, thanks!_


	13. Chapter 13

Emily laid on her side, the only position she could comfortably be in with her back such a mess. She had her final surgery the next morning, and was enjoying not being totally doped-up as long as she was able. She couldn't wait to get out. It wasn't that the nurses weren't nice or that the doctors' bedside manner was terrible, or even the godawful food, it was the lack of security, the lack of privacy, the alienation of being stuck in a foreign place. A hospital could never feel like home, it could never feel safe. It only felt cold and sterile and lonely.

She looked up at movement at the doorway and saw a smiling JJ. "Hey!"

"Hey Jayje," Emily said, her voice still rather raspy. She spent more time sleeping than she did talking these days.

"I won't ask you how you're feeling, but I do have some good news for you. Or bad news, depending on what you focus on." She sat in the chair next to the bed.

Emily's eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

"Rossi just got a call from the ADA Beam, he's prosecuting Reece. It seems Reece instructed his attorney to turn down the plea that was offered."

"It's going to trial."

"Yeah, which means you have to testify, but Rossi said that Reece could get up to 30 years with everything he's being charged with."

She frowned. "Will I have to talk about the abuse?"

JJ shrugged. "Hotch said anything that happened in London probably won't be admissible in a DC trial."

"Good."

"Did the doctors say when you can get out of here, or how long it will be before you can be on a plane?"

"I have surgery for the permanent graphs tomorrow morning, then recovery from that. A another week or two they said. They don't have any specific estimates." Emily paused and licked her lips, accepting the cup JJ handed to her and sipping from the straw. "They said it could be months before I can sit and lean back long enough to get through a seven-hour flight. Clyde called me earlier though, he said he'd fly over with one of the Interpol jets whenever I'm ready. The doctor said that even after discharge recovery could take up to a month and recommended I stay in D.C."

"Well, none of us would mind having you around for a while longer." Emily offered a small smile and JJ continued. "I guess you'll continue to stay with Morgan?"

Emily let her eyes drift toward the wall and focus on an invisible spot there. JJ prodded her. "Emily?"

"I'm not so sure that that is a good idea."

"Why? What's wrong?" The former media liaison leaned closer, her bright blue eyes subdued with worry.

"The night I doused Reece with the hot chocolate I went back to Morgan's house and we...we had sex," she finally managed. She couldn't say "made love" though that was almost certainly what they did, because that made the whole thing way too real.

JJ's nose wrinkled and in a stage whisper she asked, "Was it that bad?"

Emily actually smiled. "No, it wasn't bad at all."

"Is he pressuring you for more?"

"No, of course not. It's just..." Emily gnawed on her lower lip, because with all the wires and the handcuffs, gnawing her fingernails wasn't really an option. "We were already very close and we got even closer with all this and us being so close is not a good idea."

"Emily, no one would blame you for not jumping straight into a new relationship, least of all Morgan. And he certainly wouldn't want to be your rebound."

"It's not that, JJ...well, part of it's that, but..." Emily drifted off, not wanting to admit the truth. When she did speak again, her eyes remained focused on the ground. "I have had two men propose to me, and both of those men tried to kill me."

Emily looked up to find JJ frowning deeply at her. "I didn't know that Doyle asked you to marry him."

"He brought up the subject and I dodged it by saying I wasn't the marrying type. Then he got me the gimmel ring on the chain and asked me to spend my life with him."

"We found that in your toilet, so I guess you said yes?"

"I accepted the ring, but never said it verbally."

"And now you think that disaster is the only possible conclusion if you get involved with Derek?"

"You make it sound dumb."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I just..." JJ took a deep breath. "Emily, you have had epically shitty luck in relationships. I know Doyle and Reece were your longest since college, and I know the ones scattered in between have been short and not much better. I know that trusting a guy after Reece is going to be almost impossible for you and I can only imagine how hard even the idea of being intimate with someone is for you. So back away, take some time to heal and if you need Derek at a distance for it, that's fine. But don't give up. Not if you feel like there could be more with him than friendship."

* * *

A week later, Emily's surgery had gone well and her recovery, while not as fast as she might like, was at least going smoothly. She was relieved that the grafts had taken and that no infections had developed. Though she was still spending most of her time laying on her side, she was at least well enough now to meet with the ADA assigned to prosecute her for assaulting Reece. She was a slightly too energetic redhead that Emily imagined would be a bulldog in the courtroom.

"Melissa Hornsby, ADA," she introduced herself, offering a hand to Emily, Reid, Garcia and Hotch in turn. She addressed Emily. "This is basically going to be like taking your statement, I want you to tell me what happened and then I'll ask you some questions. Is it okay if I record it?"

Emily nodded. "Let's get this over with."

"Alright, I'm just going to have to ask your friends to leave-"

"Hotch stays," she said. "He's my attorney."

To his credit Hotch didn't let his surprise show, at least to anyone that didn't know him, but moved closer to Emily while Reid and Garcia headed out the door with a wave.

"Good," Hornsby said, "I'm glad you have an attorney. Mr. Hotchner, you've had time to familiarize yourself with the case?"

"I have." He didn't bother to correct her.

"Alright, Emily why don't you start by telling me what happened?" The ADA clicked on her recorder and laid it on the bedside table. She sat in the chair by the bed, her pen poised over a legal pad.

Emily began by explaining her life with Reece in London, why she came to D.C., and his harassing behavior toward her. When she got to the part about their date at the park, she tried not to feel like an idiot for believing that Reece could change. But every word made her want to smack herself for being so gullible or desperate or just plain stupid. She was already beginning to grow tired when she got to the incident, but she pressed onward. She said, "So I threw my hot cocoa on him and ran out the door."

ADA Hornsby scribbled on her pad and then looked up. "Okay Emily, what was your intention in dousing Mr. Walters with cocoa?"

"I wanted to get him to let me go."

"And that was successful?"

"Yeah, he let go of me to grab his head. Then I took off."

Hornsby nodded. "Any other reason to douse him in hot liquid?"

Hotch held up a hand before she could speak. "What is it that you're trying to get at, Ms. Hornsby?"

"I'm trying to ascertain whether Ms. Prentiss had any other motivation in dousing the victim in a hot beverage."

Hotch leaned close to her and whispered in her ear. "Did you pour the cocoa on him to cause him injury or pain?"

Emily whispered back. "No, I wasn't even thinking about that at the time, though I'm not sorry that he was a little hurt."

The corners of Hotch's mouth twitched slightly, but he didn't let himself smile. "Neither am I. Tell her that, but leave out the last part."

Emily repeated that to Hornsby, but left out the part about not being sorry that he was hurt.

Hornsby nodded. "Did you have any other contact with the victim after the incident?"

Her jaw tense at the suggestion that Reece was a victim, Emily said, "The only other contact I've had with Reece since then was two days after the hot chocolate incident when he sprayed me with vodka and tossed a lit zippo at me."

The ADA then began digging around in her file, completely ignoring Emily's tone. She pulled out the photos taken in DC and the ones taken in London. "Can we stipulate that this stack of photos was taken in London and this stack was taken five days later by Metro PD in Washington, D.C.?"

Emily eyed the photos and nodded. "Yep."

"Okay, so based on the DC photos, you have new bruises here," she pointed to Emily's midback, "and here?" she asked, gesturing to a different photo that showed her left arm.

After looking at the photos' London counterpart's Emily nodded. "Yes, that's correct."

"Based on your statement here today, you're alleging that these new bruises were created by Mr. Walters on the night in question?"

"Yes, as I said he twisted my arm and pressed me back up into the brick wall of the coffee shop."

Hornsby asked a few more questions and Hotch interjected a few more times, until finally the inquisition was over. Hornsby clicked her pen, shut off her recorder and began to pack up her things. Without any more explanation, she stuck half her body out the door and called for the officer on duty. "Officer Barbrady, could you please remove the handcuffs from Ms. Prentiss?"

"So, my client isn't going to be prosecuted?" Hotch asked, moving out of the officer's way.

"Of course not, you know what a PR nightmare that would be for the DA's office? This was just us covering our asses, appearing biased wouldn't help your case or my office. Based on what Emily told me, her actions were done in self-defense. I'm going to have my assistant type this up and then I'll have it delivered to you Mr. Hotchner, if you give me your card. Review it and if you're okay with it, have Emily sign it then have it delivered to my office. Here's my card."

Hotch accepted the ADA's card and handed him her own. Her eyebrows shot up. "You must be one of Emily's former colleagues, I was told that you used to be FBI?" She turned to Emily as she said the last part.

"Yes, Hotch was my boss."

Hornsby grabbed up her bag. "Well, I wish you luck with your recovery and with any luck this part at least will be over with in a matter of days."

"Thank you," Emily said. She didn't bother extending a hand, she was so tired she was barely keeping her eyes open.

* * *

Morgan flipped the pages in the magazine JJ or Garcia had left for Emily. He'd already read about picking the perfect lipstick shade for his skin tone and occasion, learned what men _really_ like in bed (he was quick to disagree with some of those), and discovered the newest clothing trends in Hollywood and where to get a replica of that dress Jennifer Aniston wore at some awards ceremony. It did not strike him as reading material that Emily would choose or enjoy, but he figured JJ and Garcia would know better than him.

He turned a page and scoffed. True life stories from people who cheat. Now that's classy. Derek looked up at Emily, needing a break from the magazine. She was sleeping on her side, facing him, and had been since he'd arrived. She slept a lot now, even with the far lighter painkillers they gave her. The doctors said that her body needed to rest after the trauma and multiple surgeries and that the pain took a lot out of her, so it wasn't unusual or anything to worry about. He yawned and checked his watch; it was late, after visiting hours already, but the doctors and nurses didn't shoo anyone with a badge out of Emily's room. With nothing better to do, he turned back to his magazine.

He read about Doug F., a thirty-five year-old middle manager that cheated on his wife and mother of his three children with three different women, because essentially, he felt emasculated at work. Morgan shook his head. Next up was Alicia R., a forty-one year-old attorney, but he didn't get to finish Alicia's story. A noise attracted his attention. Emily was muttering in her sleep, no moaning, low, frightened moans. Her heart monitor began to beep faster and he could see her blood pressure rising as well. A nurse suddenly appeared and her tense, ready for action demeanor almost immediately relaxed.

"That poor thing having another nightmare?"

"She's had them before?"

"Yeah, seems to whenever she's not conked out on morphine."

Morgan frowned, she hadn't mentioned nightmares. "Should I wake her?"

"I usually do. Unless you want me to handle this?"

"Uh no, I've got it."

"Alright, I'll be at the nurses' station if you need me." With that, the nurse turned and left, leaving Morgan to watch over Emily.

He picked up her no longer cuffed hand and spoke to her. "Emily." He gentle wiggled her arm, hoping he wasn't causing her too much pain. "Emily."

She woke with a gasp, ripping her hand from his grip, her whole body shifting away from him and staring at him with wide eyes. Morgan put his hands in the air. "It's just me. You were having a nightmare."

She began to relax and the pain seemed to hit her now that she was no longer terrified. Emily settled gingerly back onto her side, and the beeping of her heart monitor began to slow the slightest bit. Her blood pressure did not go down, not yet anyway.

"It was about Reece?" He asked.

She nodded. "I'm okay."

"I know it, but nightmares still suck...do you want to talk about it?"

"No." She sighed. "Any news on Clooney?"

"The investigator is still tracking down witnesses, and he's trying to get in to see Reece, but all the press has made that more complicated."

"Press?"

"Don't worry, we're keeping them away from the hospital and all calls to your room are going through the hospital switchboard. They have a list of people that can be put through to your room."

"They figured out who I am? Who my mother is?"

"Yeah, wasn't that hard. Your mother put out a statement that she's not giving a statement or talking to press about you."

"Really? She loves press."

"Honestly, I think this whole thing shook her up. She's been calling Hotch almost daily to see how you are and DA Beam said his boss was getting pressure to not offer Reece anymore deals, but didn't know where it was coming from."

Emily offered an amused snort. "My mother has always been good at two things, exerting political pressure and handing out money."

He smiled, not surprised that being a mother wasn't on that list. "Like any good politician."

"They pick up the whole died and came back thing?"

Morgan nodded. "The Bureau issued a statement that you were indeed severely injured in the line of duty and that your death was faked for reasons which are classified. As you can imagine that got them all excited, but there's nothing else for them to find. Even if they somehow found out that you were CIA, that tells them nothing really."

"Good."

"So, Rossi mentioned that you're going to stay with him when you're released?"

"Yeah, that's the plan." She didn't look at him.

"Emily, if this is about what happened between us, I told you I don't want us to not be able to be friends anymore."

She quickly shook her head and then sighed loudly. To his surprise, she reached a hand out to him. Morgan took it in both of his. "We are still friends, Derek, I promise. Nothing will change that."

"But?"

"The temptation to fall apart and let you catch me will be too great if I stay with you."

"What's wrong with that? Everybody falls apart now and again."

Emily was silent for several minutes, but Morgan didn't speak. When she'd gathered her thoughts, she began, "When I joined the team, I buried all my baggage and pretended to be someone else just by denying my past. After the thing with Doyle, I didn't know who I was anymore. I didn't know if I could assimilate the Emily who'd been with the CIA and Interpol and done horrible things, with the Emily you all knew. I didn't even know if who I really was could fit into that team. So I walked away, because I couldn't figure who I was while still trying to fit myself into a team, into a family, that I may not fit into at all." She stopped and tried to clear her throat, which was growing almost hoarse as she spoke.

Morgan grabbed the cup from the stand and handed it to her. She sipped from the straw and then handed it back to him. He wanted to deny that she didn't fit in with them, but he kept his mouth shut, he knew she wasn't finished yet.

"I was happy in London. I dealt with all my Doyle crap and began to feel like I knew myself again. Then I met Reece and everything went to hell. I should have walked away the first time he hit me, the first time he told me that I was damaged, but I didn't. I know the patterns of abuse, I've studied them and I still didn't walk away. And now I feel more damaged and broken than I've ever been, and I barely recognize the person I became with him. I don't know if I'll ever be able to fix the damage he caused, but I know I can't do it, if I lean on you and let you fix me."

Derek reluctantly nodded. "You're sure this is what you need?"

"Yes."

"We can still talk though, right?"

"Of course." She squeezed his hand. Morgan squeezed back.


	14. Chapter 14

Hotch showed his Bureau ID to the receptionist at the visitors desk and accepted the sticker she handed him. Emily had already been here for four weeks and was finally well enough to go home, or rather go back to Dave's place. She was still sore and easily exhausted, but she didn't fall asleep immediately after having a visitor anymore. That was a relief for all of them. The only one who had ever seen her so weak was JJ, who, for obvious reasons, was the only one to visit her after Doyle's attack. Though JJ had confessed to him that seeing Emily so helpless had been no less terrifying the second time around.

They had all wanted to be the one to pick her up, but Hotch had actually pulled rank and insisted that he was doing it, earning some unhappy looks. He wanted to discuss some things with her while she was in the car and couldn't go anywhere. Hotch followed directions to the burn ward and showed the nurse on duty his hospital badge and his Bureau ID. She waved him through, hitting to button to open the doors for him. He found Emily coming out of the bathroom, walking very slowly and with deliberate care. It troubled him, but he knew it was to be expected.

"Hey Hotch," she said and began sliding on the new slip-on sneakers Garcia had picked up for her.

"Are you sure you're ready to go home?"

"I've been here a month, I'm more than ready. Besides, the poking and the prodding and especially the food here, certainly isn't helping me heal."

He smiled. "Well, staying with Rossi, you can expect to be well-fed."

"I'm really looking forward to real food." There was an almost dreamy look in her eyes when she spoke, and Hotch couldn't blame her, he'd had his share of hospital food.

He took her bag, and was surprised when Emily dutifully got into the wheelchair brought in by the nurse. "Here are your prescriptions, Honey. Remember to take it easy for a while and stay out of the sun for the next few months."

"Thank you, Dana," Emily said, accepting the bag of prescriptions. Hotch nodded to the nurse, who followed them out to the parking lot and took the chair when they were finished with it. He tossed Emily's bag in the backseat and started the engine.

"Did JJ mention that she was dealing with the paperwork for victim's services?"

"Yeah, she said since I don't have insurance in the states the hospital put me on the discount plan, and victim's comp is covering most of the rest of it."

He nodded. "Good. I've discussed the possibility of restitution with DA Beam, and he said that he'd ask for it in sentencing if we provide him a monetary breakdown. Since Walters is well off financially, there is a good chance we can actually get it."

"I don't want his money, Hotch."

"You're entitled to it. And it can help pay for anything you need and your flight back to testify."

"Healthcare is free in the UK."

"Not cosmetic treatments, at least not commonly. And it will cover whatever is leftover over here."

She sighed. "What do you need me to do?"

"Send all your bills to me, flight too. If you think you might eventually want surgery or laser scar removal, go for a consultation before the trial so we can factor in that cost."

"Really, you're going to take this on, on top of everything else you have going on in life?"

He smiled slightly as he said, "Actually, I was going to have Reid handle that part."

Emily smiled. "Alright then, I'll send all my bills and such to Reid."

"Good."

After a beat of silence, she said, "What else Hotch? I can hear you thinking."

"This is the second major trauma on your body and your mind in less than three years. And that isn't counting the various other traumas you suffered while with the BAU or what I imagine is just as many when you were a spy."

She glanced at him, her body language already defensive and her jaw already tensing. "Your point?"

"I don't think therapy or even just a support group would be a bad idea."

"I'm lousy at therapy, Hotch. I'm sure you remember, I lied to my last therapist."

"I do remember that. A support group then?" He wasn't giving up that easily.

She shrugged. "I don't know, maybe."

"Garcia seems to get a lot out of leading hers."

"I already said maybe, Hotch, isn't that enough for right now?"

"Alright, I'll take that."

Several minutes later, Emily interrupted their comfortable silence. "I don't know if I can do that."

He glanced at her, taking his eyes away from the road for seconds. "Do what?"

"Sit in a group of victims and talk about being a victim. I can't think of myself that way."

"Then don't think of it that way. Think of it as sitting in a group of women who have been through horrors similar to the ones you've been through, all sharing those experiences and knowing that none of you are alone in it. Think of it as what it is, support."

He heard her inhale deeply, then release it. "Maybe."

* * *

Days later Emily walked with Derek into the DCAL animal shelter to liberate poor Clooney from his doggie prison. The investigator had called that morning to tell Derek that the investigation had been closed, and since he'd long since finished the quarantine period, Clooney was free to go home. Emily was relieved, but still hated the idea of him having been locked in a shelter for so long. She knew Morgan had been growing more and more agitated the last several weeks as the animal control investigation seemed to drag on. But if there was one thing they both knew, it was that government, at all levels, was remarkably talented at the slow paperwork shuffle.

"We're here to pick-up Clooney," Derek said to the receptionist.

"You have a leash with you?" She asked. Derek held it up for her to see. The woman nodded and pointed them in a forward direction. "He's in B, just follow the signs."

Really, all they needed to follow was the barking and that led them straight to B, a room with cages built into the walls on either side. There were three teenagers inside, two girls and a boy, cleaning cages and refilling water dishes. They stopped their chores and looked at Morgan and Emily, though their eyes seemed to land on her. Emily stiffened, but tried to hide her discomfort at the recognition.

"You're here for Clooney,"one of the girls, a redhead, said. She was rather petite, but her bright ocean blue eyes were intelligent and her body language was confident.

"Uh yeah, I uh, don't see him though?" Derek was glancing at the cages, and Emily followed his glance, growing concerned when she didn't see Clooney either.

"I'll go grab him." The boy, who was tall and thin enough to be considered lanky, took off to some world behind the cages, his head full of thick dark hair flopping as he ran.

"He's having some time in the yard with a couple of the other dogs," the redhead said. She walked forward, extending a hand. "Kat, that's Mel and Will just ran off to get Clooney."

Morgan took her hand. "Derek, Emily." He gestured toward her.

Kat nodded. "We saw on the news. I'm real sorry about what happened to you."

"Thanks." She cleared her throat. "How's Clooney been?"

The girl smiled. "A little down, but that's to be expected in the shelter. It's been better since he finished quarantine, since he got to run around with the other dogs." In a stage whisper she said, "Between you and me, we've been slipping him extra treats. We figure he earned it."

Emily smiled. "He certainly did."

A woofing drew their attention then as Will returned with Clooney, who seemed to immediately see Morgan. His tail began to wag at an insane rate and he began to bark and jump as he struggled to get free from the kid. Will commanded him to sit and Clooney very reluctantly obeyed. After the kid disconnected his leash and told Clooney to got to Derek, the dog tore off like a torpedo.

Derek caught the excited dog in his arms with a laugh. "Hey boy, I'm happy to see you too."

Clooney was rubbing up against him, licking his hands and face, his tail still going a mile a minute. Then he saw Emily and his excited actually seemed to grow. He started toward her, but Derek stopped him. "Gentle Clooney, she's still healing. Gentle."

The dog looked slightly bummed that he couldn't show his full enthusiasm, but walked calmly toward Emily and panted up at her. She knelt down as far and best as she could, wincing slightly and stroked his head. "Hey buddy," she said softly.

Clooney rubbed against her and whimpered and licked her face, causing Emily to chuckle. "Oh, doggie kisses, thank you, Clooney."

Derek chuckled and attached the leash he'd brought. They walked Clooney out and into the car, waving goodbye to the kids. Emily fell into the passenger's seat, already feeling tired. Morgan, of course, picked up on it instantly. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just have shit stamina since I was in the hospital so long." She smirked. "It's too bad I won't have you to help kick my ass back into shape this time."

He smiled. "Oh, if I remember correctly, your ass was in fine shape last time without my help."

She smiled, but said, "I don't know, it feels like it gets harder and harder to come back. I guess that's just getting older though."

"Old my ass. We aren't old, at least not yet." He looked over and smiled widely. Emily returned it.

The spent the rest of the drive to Rossi's idly chatting while Clooney kept rhythm with his tail thwacking against the backseat. With Emily well enough to move and sit for longer periods, they were having a team gathering. They all needed it after recent events. Garcia still looked at her like she was afraid she might disappear or keel over or who knew what.

Emily opened the car door and JJ, who was nearby, moved to greet her with a hug, but an angry bark startled both women. Clooney issued a guttural growl and continued to bark at JJ while moving closer to Emily.

"Uh Derek, why does your dog hate me?"

"Clooney, Clooney come on man, chill." He rested a hand on the animal's upper back and that seemed to quiet him down. Until JJ again went to hug Emily and Clooney began growling and barking like crazy. Morgan's mouth formed into an 'O'. "I think I know what's going on here. JJ come here."

She went to Derek and they hugged, then Clooney stopped barking. Morgan nodded her toward Emily and the two women managed to embrace without a peep from Clooney. JJ looked down at the dog, who then panted and rubbed against her. "So, I guess you've acquired a canine bodyguard, Em."

"Well, it's not like he doesn't know you...?"

"I guess he just considers everyone a threat to you now, until I say it's okay," Morgan said.

Emily stroked the dog's head. "Then you better go around and make sure he sees you okay everyone here."

Derek nodded and went to do just that. JJ looked at her then. "So that was different."

Emily shook her head, as if shaking away the bizarreness of the situation. "How's Henry?"

"Excited to see all his aunts and uncles; he and Jack are in the back running around with Mudgie."

"Well, dogs are way more fun than a bunch of adults."JJ laughed at that, and they walked together to the rest of the party, making sure to follow the path Derek walked with Clooney.

There were no more dog-related issues until Morgan decided to leave later that night. Emily was chatting with Reid and Garcia, the three of them taking turns talking animatedly with their hands (or at least as much as Emily's still healing body allowed her). Reid as usual was the most animated, waving his hand in the air as he spoke, almost as if casting some elaborate spell in the air. It felt really good to just sit and talk with them, a luxury she had had little time or opportunity for the last few years. It made her miss being in DC.

"Alright, I'm heading out," Morgan said approaching them, Clooney trotting beside him. He looked at Emily. "You said your last appointment was tomorrow at 10:30?"

"Yeah, you still planning on coming?"

He nodded. "I already cleared with Hotch that I'll be out in the morning."

She decided to forgo telling him that it wasn't necessary for the umpteenth time and instead smiled. "Thanks."

To Reid and Garcia, he said, "I'll see you both tomorrow at the BAU." They all exchanged hugs and then Morgan turned and began walking toward the door. Emily went back to talking to Reid and Garcia until anxious barking drew their attention.

Clooney was standing in Rossi's foyer, barking at Morgan, who was looking at him in confusion. Clooney definitely wasn't angry, but his accompanying whines said that he was seriously distressed. Derek held up empty hands. "What's wrong? Why don't you want to leave?"

Clooney whimpered and tugged against his leash. Morgan let it go and Clooney ran straight back to them. He nuzzled Emily and then whined, looking toward Derek. Emily watched Morgan sigh, his eyes shutting as he shook his head.

"Buddy, I'm not going home with you tonight. I'm sorry." She stroked behind his ears, as Morgan came toward them, grabbing Clooney's leash again.

"She doesn't live with us, Clooney. She was just a guest, you have a say goodbye." The dog ignored him and continued to nuzzle and whine and try to nudge Emily to leave with them.

Emily sighed. "I feel like the worst person in the world right now."

Morgan offered her a tense smile. "Don't worry Princess, he'll get over it." He looked at the dog. "Time to go, Clooney."

Realizing that Emily wasn't going to come with them, Clooney started to walk with Derek, his head down and tail tucked between his legs, looking absolutely dejected.

Garcia nudged her then. "Looks like Clooney's made his pick for lady of the house."

Emily sighed, still feeling horribly guilty. "Unfortunately for Clooney, that's a lot more complicated than he knows."

Garcia's eyebrow quirked and she exchanged a quick look with Reid. "But not out of the question?"

She bit her lip. "No, not at all."

* * *

_Sorry for the delay. Good news though, there will be at least one more update in the next two weeks, two if I can manage it. Thank you all for continuing to follow along and thank you to those who review!_


	15. Chapter 15

Two days later, Emily was sitting on one of Interpol London's private jets, Clyde across from her reading a newspaper. Or rather, he was holding a newspaper, but his eyes were peaking over the edge at her. She was staring out the window, purposefully ignoring him, part of a general campaign to avoid talking about recent events that she knew would be successful for only so much longer. That was the problem when you'd been partnered with someone that long, your lives depended on being able to read each other; they know you too well to hide anything.

And while Clyde may give the impression of an insufferably smug jackass, she knew that was all a show, just like he knew her Wonder-Woman-built-of-steel routine was all bullshit. Finally, Emily sighed and accepting defeat, turned to him. "How's Sergio?"

"Happily getting fur over every damn surface in my flat."

"How tragic for your cleaning lady."

He smirked. "He's fine. He thinks purring will instantly earn him my forgiveness, and seems to be under the impression that I actually like to have him on my bed, but generally he's fine. He's healthy and is constantly hungry, and I'm sure he'll be thrilled when he gets to go home."

"He wasn't too much trouble?"

"At first? He was a tremendous amount of trouble, constantly yowling and peeing in corners, but when a dear friend shows up at my door looking on the verge of tears and asks me to look after the little beast for a while, I can overlook such inconveniences. Rather, when a woman I've seen looked frightened maybe twice, shows at my door white with fear, I'm simply going to do, not fight it or ask too many questions."

"Thank you, Clyde. I really can't tell you how much I appreciate it." She reached over and squeezed his hand.

He nodded. "I should tell you though, I am amending my policy in the future, there will be questions and lots of them." Emily didn't respond, but looked down at her hands. Clyde spoke again. "I knew something was wrong, I should have made you tell me."

She shook her head. "Come on Clyde, you know how these things go. I wasn't going to leave him until I was ready. And when I was ready, you dropped everything to help me. You have no blame in this."

He squeezed her hand. "Neither do you."

"I keep trying to tell myself that, but I don't really believe it."

He frowned, wrinkling his nose. "Really? How is any of this your fault?"

She bit her lip. "My romantic life seems to have begun developing a pattern." When he didn't speak, she continued, running her tongue over her bottom lip. "Violent men love me, then they try to kill me."

Clyde actually snorted at her. "Are you serious?" When she nodded, he scoffed and offered a put-upon sigh. "I'll give you Doyle, that bastard was hopelessly in love with you or Lauren, whichever." He waved a hand in the air absently, both of them knowing the division between the two women was tenuous at best. "But there is one glaring error in your little theory so far as it applies to that wanker Reece - he did not love you. You do not beat a woman that you love, you do not force sexual contact on a woman you love, in fact, if you truly love her the very idea should cause you severe nausea, and if you love a woman you do not set her on fire. He did not love you, and frankly, the only thing you did wrong was believe that he did. You don't deserve to be punished for it."

Emily cracked a smile. "You always did have the best pep talks."

"You want a pep talk, put on one of those American films about some underdog sports team, I've heard they're good for that." Then he flicked his paper and focused on the newsprint.

Hours later, they'd gone from the plane to the car that was waiting for them, and Emily waved as it dropped her at her apartment building. She wheeled her suitcase to the elevator and hit the button for her floor, instantly thankful that she chose a building with an elevator. She was already sore and exhausted and frankly, just wanted to collapse. After it let her out, she headed to her door and unlocked it for the first time in months. Emily didn't allow herself the time to be hesitant, but pushed the door open and stepped through, closing it behind her.

Her chest instantly grew tight and a sharp ache began to throb in her stomach. The last thing she needed was that damn ulcer to come back, but the sudden tightness in her throat distracted her from the ache. This did not feel like her home anymore. It felt like a prison.

Emily pushed past it all, pressing all those horrible memories, all the panicky feelings to the dark little boxes in her brain. After a few deep breaths she headed toward her bedroom, but after standing frozen in the doorway for two minutes, she backed out and turned instead to her guest bedroom. Emily left her suitcase standing by the door and headed straight for the bed, crawling under the covers. When sleep refused to come, because her frightened mind kept her heart galloping and ready to run, she took one of the pills her doctor gave her and passed out into a hopefully dreamless sleep.

She had one decision made though; she had to clean out and redecorate her apartment. She wasn't going to leave it, so she had to make it hers again.

* * *

Emily awoke from her dream, her chest shuddering with shallow, almost panicked breaths and her limbs practically twitching with the new-found freedom after the sleep chemical induced paralysis had kept them pinned in her dreamworld. In her dreamworld where some horror-show amalgamation of Reece Walters and Ian Doyle taunted her and pinned her down. The irony was that Reece was a far worse nightmare than Ian had ever been. Oh sure, Ian tried to kill her and would have kept doing so until he was imprisoned again or killed, but he'd never hurt her when they were together.

He'd actually treated her really well. There were moments when he was intense, when his temper flared, that he was a little frightening, but he was never purposely cruel. Not to her anyway. But as much as playing undercover lover to Ian Doyle had messed with her head, it was nothing compared to the damage Reece caused in less than a year. Because he earned her trust, he found her weakness and then he began to destroy her little by little. Ian had had her love, but he'd never had her trust.

Emily was still trying to get herself back together. Going back to work two months ago had gone a long way to making her feel like herself again, the strong, independent woman she had always been. Aside from joyous greetings when she'd initially returned, her colleagues hadn't treated her any differently. None of them saw her as weak, and Jerome had been beyond thrilled that she was back. He hated paperwork, but even more so, he hated all the damn meetings and assured her that any desire he may have had for her job was all too effectively quashed.

She had started physical therapy almost immediately upon returning to the UK; the scars on her back were hampering her movement more than she liked and after three months, she had her normal range of motion back. And of course, Emily continued a regimen of ointment and creams and lotions and just about every type of gook a person could put on their body. It all helped, little by little.

Emily had cleaned her apartment and thrown out and donated a lot of items, giving her home a much needed fresh feel. It had stopped feeling like the prison it had become and became her home again, especially after she brought Sergio home. While he had endeared himself to Clyde, he had by no means turned the man into a cat person or even an animal person for that matter, so Clyde was not too heartbroken to see him go. The feline was currently sleeping in the "u" made by her stomach while she laid on her side.

She stretched and looked around in the dark, her heart returning to normal as the visions from her dream faded back into the ether. Emily looked forward to the day that she didn't dream of Reece's torment or wake-up wondering what clothes would most effectively cover all her scars. That day was certainly not today, or tomorrow, probably not even next month, but eventually. She hoped.

For now, she sat in the darkness, trying her hardest to stop her eyes from playing tricks on her, trying to stop them from grabbing images from her brain and turning shadows into monsters. Or rather one monster. Emily inhaled deeply and breathed it out slowly, pushing herself to a sitting position as the possibility of returning to sleep became less likely. Sergio woke up from her moving and pushed himself to resting on his hind legs, eying her with disapproval and irritation.

Emily rolled her eyes. "Sorry for disturbing your beauty sleep."

Sergio eyed her for a moment longer and then yawned, jumping down from the bed and trotting away. She considered herself forgiven. Emily ran her fingers through her hair and bit her lip. She was tired of waking up in the middle of the night and sitting there alone and frightened. Her hands trembling, Emily grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand and tapped his number into the keys. She didn't immediately hit send though, too nervous to speak to him, to admit that she was scared.

She finally shook herself and hit the button, her teeth sunk deep into her lip as she listened to it ring. She nearly hung up when he answered.

"Morgan."

"Hey."

"Em?"

"Yeah, I didn't wake you, did I?" He usually wasn't in bed that early, but if they'd pulled an all-nighter on a case, he may have crashed as soon as he got in the door.

"No, no, I actually just got out of the shower. We're on a case in Wichita, and we found some bodies in, uh that doesn't really matter, they were earlier victims of the killer and decomposing, and uh, nearly liquified."

Emily crinkled her nose. "So you smell like roses then."

He chuckled. "Reid and I, we were at the scene. We had to stop at a grocery store to get oranges and lemons, first time I ever took food into the shower with me."

"Did they help?"

"Hard to say, I think my sense of smell burned out about three hours ago."

She smiled. "Well, if it didn't I'm sure Reid's got a dozen other tricks to try."

"Yeah, I bet he does...so what's new with you?"

"Not much, work has been busy, but good..." She allowed her words to trail off, not sure what to say now that she had him on the phone.

"Emily?"

"Yeah?"

"It's 4:00 a.m. for you...what's going on?"

She glanced at her watch on the nightstand and nearly groaned allowed. She hadn't thought about her time when she called, she'd only thought about his time. Emily sighed. "I had a, a dream, well a nightmare, I suppose."

"About Reece?"

"Yeah, he had a staring role."

"Why don't you tell me about it?"

She shifted uncomfortably, not sure that she really wanted to live through it, but knowing that she probably should talk about it. She hesitated too long, and Derek spoke first. "I won't judge you, you know that, right?"

Tears bit at her eyes at the sincerity in his voice. "I know, I guess I just don't know where to start."

"Well, what do you remember?"

"He was smiling at me," she said, as she began to explain what she'd seen in the dream.

* * *

_A little delay with this chapter, I needed an extra day to proofread and then my internet decided to stop working last night, so posting didn't happen. Next chapter will be all Morgan/Prentiss, which I think will make many of you happy. Thank you all so much for the reviews and thank you everyone who is still reading!_


	16. Chapter 16

Morgan settled in front of his computer, clicking the button for Skype and pouring the dressing on his chicken and spinach salad while waiting for it to boot up. He'd made the mistake of telling Garcia that his cholesterol was a little elevated the last time he went to the doctor and she'd informed everyone. Now he had all the girls nagging him to eat healthier. It wasn't that he didn't eat healthy already, or at least try to, it was that they were on the road all the time, so that made eating healthy near impossible. So, he did the best he could, and salads packed with fresh veggies and lean proteins were his best option in or out of town.

Skype starting ringing almost as soon as it finished loading. Derek answered it, grinning widely. "Hello, beautiful," he said.

"Hey," Emily smiled back at him. She was still in her office, so it looked like she was working late tonight, but that didn't keep her from their weekly Skype date. "How's D.C.?" She asked, while taking a biteful of what looked like India food.

"Rainy, but we've been slow lately, so I think we're all enjoying the time to recharge."

"I bet. Oh, before I forget, I have to be in Jordan next week, so we're going to have to adjust the time of our call."

"Jordan?" He asked, taking a bite of his salad. It had been eight months since she'd gone back, and five since she'd called him that first time after a nightmare pulled her away. The calls had thereafter become more frequent and slowly turned into weekly Skype dates while he ate lunch and she ate dinner.

"Yeah, I'm meeting with the Interpol leaders in the region to discuss weapons trafficking."

"Why you?"

"Well, considering the usually congenial climate in the Middle East, we wanted a neutral party to act as leader and referee for the discussion, and I'm the only Interpol Bureau Chief outside of the region who's fluent in Arabic, has extensive experience in the region, and on-the-ground experience with weapons trafficking."

"Right, are you all expecting a lot of fighting among the regional Bureau Chiefs?"

She shrugged, swallowing a bit of food. "For the most part, no. We're all law enforcement, not politicians, but at this level, politics does often come into play, so I'm expecting tempers to flair occasionally."

"Sounds like you're in for a fun week."

She offered him a slight smile. "So, how's your week been?"

He told her about one of the cases he was writing a profile for, Reid's latest magic trick and Henry's play that they all went to see. The truth was, Derek lived for these weekly dates. They talked on the phone and texted fairly regularly, but these dates were the only time they actually got to look each other in the face. And they _were_ becoming dates; the eagerness with which they both greeted their weekly meet-ups told him that. And the fact that they rarely missed one. Times got shifted around pretty frequently, but they rarely canceled one altogether.

After they got the easy conversation out of the way, Derek broached the part that he knew was hard for Emily. "How've the dreams been this week?"

She shrugged, her eyes on her food as she slid her fork around her rice and curry mix. "Not so bad this week."

"That's good, Em. You still had some though?"

"Tuesday was really busy, I was at work for about 13 hours and glued to my desk for most of it. By the end, my back was really stiff and sore. I did some of the exercises the physical therapist showed me, but I guess it put him on my mind. It wasn't as upsetting as it used to be though."

"I'm glad they've gotten better." He paused. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Emily shook her head. "No, not really. I handled it okay by myself and I don't really want to relive it."

"Fair enough. Hotch keeping you up-to-date on all the pre-trial whatnot?"

"Yeah, makes me wonder why the hell anyone would ever want to be a lawyer."

He chuckled. "Don't ask me. I got my J.D. and ran the hell in the other direction."

"Smart man," she said, lifting her bottle of water in a toast to him.

"Anything scumbag-related that you do want to talk out?"

She cleared her throat and set her fork down. "I found a bracelet he gave me the other day. It must have fallen and gotten stuck behind my dresser. It's a tennis bracelet, gold and diamond, not usually my style, but beautiful and expensive. I don't know what to do with it."

"Pawn it?" He offered, but soon realized that her eyes were unfocused, staring at something not visible to anyone but her.

"When I found it I sat there staring at it for about ten minutes. He gave it to me early on, when things were still good between us. So I sat there and I wondered what I had done between the time he gave me that bracelet and the first time he called me damaged and worthless...what I'd done to make him want to hurt me. And I still have no idea."

"Emily, you didn't do anything. What he did to you, it was all his sickness, it had nothing to do with you."

"He picked me, Derek. Something about me made him think that I'd let him say those things to me, let him beat me, let him-" she suddenly stopped and inhaled, and he could hear that breath tremble all the way down her throat. "let him force me into sex. It had something to do with me, Derek, or he'd have picked another woman."

Derek sighed. "Em, whatever it was that made him choose you, it wasn't wasn't a flaw with you or something you did wrong. He preyed on you, you cannot accept any of the blame for this."

Her eyes told him that she didn't believe him, but she didn't press it. "So what do I do with the bracelet?"

He wished he was in London, so he could take her in his arms and make her feel safe and loved. But he was in D.C., so instead, he decided to put his trust in someone Emily already trusted. "Give it to Easter, he'll get rid of it for you."

* * *

Emily wheeled her carry-on beside her as she surveyed the crowd. It was too thick to see past the throngs of people disembarking with her. It had been ten months since she'd been in DC, choosing to remain in London and get her life back together before the trial tore it all apart again. As Hotch had asked, she obtained an estimate from a plastic surgeon who had basically told her that her skin grafts, which had healed well, were the limit of her surgical options and that her best bet would be laser scar removal. He cautioned that there was no guarantee that it would work and that they'd try it one scar at a time. His very rough estimate for all the scars was several thousands of dollars, and the national insurance system wouldn't cover any of it.

She was still very much undecided about the whole thing.

"Em!" Her head whipped around at the sound of the familiar voice and she smiled at the sight of Derek. Emily walked over toward him and he met her halfway, both eagerly wrapping their arms around the other. She let her head rest against his shoulder and took the comfort she'd craved for months.

"God, I've missed you," he murmured into her neck.

"Me too." Her time away, going back to work, cleaning up her apartment and their increasingly frequently conversations had all gone a long way to making her feel like herself again. She still felt damaged and broken, especially when the nightmares woke her to a chilling sweat and racing pulse, but she didn't feel irreparable anymore. She didn't feel like a lost cause, like she was already all used up with nothing left to give.

In addition to the trial she was the star witness in, Emily was using this trip to see just how comfortable she was in her own skin, being only herself with the people that meant the most to her. The first test of that was the first stages of physical intimacy in her already very emotionally intimate relationship with Morgan. Not sex, she wasn't there yet, but the stuff junior high girls gossiped about.

She finally pulled back and looked at him, their arms still around each other. Emily pressed her lips softly against his, but only for a few seconds. "Hey."

He grinned. "Hey yourself. How was your flight?"

"Oh you know, about as good as any commercial flight can be."

"Well, I picked up some prepared stuff at the store that just needs to be heated up, so we can relax when we get back to my place."

She finally pulled herself away from him. "Sounds good. You have a bottle of wine to go with that?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." He took her hand. "You nervous about tomorrow?"

Emily shrugged as they began to walk out. "Yes and no. I've been to court many times, so I'm used to that, but I'm not used to testifying about my personal life."

"You just remember that you didn't do anything wrong here. That SOB is the one on trial, not you."

She gave him a look. "Come on, Derek, you and I both know how defense attorneys work. Discredit the victim is on the top of their to do list."

"Well, Hotch has been sitting in on the trial. He said the defense hasn't been able to give much rebuttal to the expert testimony regarding your injuries. There won't be any problems with the jury believing the extent of your injuries."

"Well, if they did, all I'd have to do is strip down and show them all the ugly-ass scars."

"Though I may personally enjoy it, I don't think a courtroom is the appropriate venue for a strip show."

She chuckled. "Hotch mention anything else about today?"

"He did mention one weird thing, the defense reserved their opening statement for when they present their case."

"Great," she muttered, nerves already bubbling in her stomach about what Reece's defense attorney might have planned.

Morgan tugged gently on her hand. "It's going to be fine. There is plenty of evidence against Walters."

* * *

_So this is it for the large jumps in time, which were necessary so the story wasn't a million words long. From here on out, the story is mostly going to be about the trial, which I know, Criminal Minds rarely has trial scenes, but I enjoy writing them and rarely do, so hopefully, you'll all enjoy reading them. And there will continue to be lots of Prentiss/Morgan as well. Thank you for reading and continuing to follow this story and to those of you who do, thank you for reviewing!_


	17. Chapter 17

Hotch sat warming a piece of very hard bench in courtroom 307 for the third day in a row. Earlier that morning, the attorneys had stood in front of the bench, glaring at each other and squabbling about some last minute things. Hotch remembered what it felt like to be them, he remembered how intensely and quickly the adversarial part of the US justice system took hold on young attorneys. But then it was bred into them in law school, where sabotage was not uncommon. He didn't miss it.

The previous two days had consisted of the officers and EMTs that had responded to the park where Emily was burned, and and testimony from two people who'd recorded the incident. Both their footage had been played; he knew it was necessary, but watching it still turned his stomach. And they had ended last night with the physicians that had treated Emily. The defense attorney had made one very good point; a sane man did not attack a woman in a crowded park in broad daylight and expect to walk away. The recordings spoke to that, and made Hotch wonder.

After the jury had been allowed to come in, the trial had picked back up from yesterday afternoon. Emily had taken the stand and sworn to tell the truth and nothing but it. The prosecutor then began to walk her through her testimony. Emily sat straight in the simple, but business-style, knee-length, short-sleeved black dress Jack Beam had instructed her to wear. She had called Hotch and asked him about the odd request, though obviously, it hadn't been that specific dress he asked her to wear. Rather, he didn't want a suit, Hotch had explained, because she'd look too professional, too cold. A dress would be more personable. The short sleeves and length were ensure that some of her scars would always be visible to the jury. The skin for the grafts had been taken from her calves, so even though the fire hadn't done much damage there, she had permanent discoloration in the area from where the donor skin had been taken.

This was the first Hotch had seen of the scars in a year. He hadn't realized how difficult it would be to sit and stare at them all day. Not because they were ugly or made Emily seem ugly, but because they reminded him of what she'd been through, reminded him how close they had come to losing her again. Those scars reminded him of how devastating her "death" had been for his team, his family, the first time, and how he feared that losing her a second time would be exponentially more devastating.

But there she sat, reliving her nightmare as if being abused, stalked and burned alive was something that happened to her everyday. Her voice was level, calm, her back straight and her hands hidden beneath the podium. He wondered if she was picking at her nails and worrying her cuticles. She probably was. Her eyes left those of the DA only to focus on the jury or periodically seek him out. Hotch offered her a comforting smile each time she made eye contact, knowing that she was struggling to keep herself for looking at Walters. The bastard's eyes never left Emily, and he maintained a broken, betrayed look, but Hotch could see the hatred burning underneath it.

And Beam droned on and Emily responded in kind. For _hours_. Hotch had forgotten how grueling the process could be, not unlike an interrogation that lasted for hours. But Beam didn't tire. He paced, he gestured widely with his hands, he looked between Emily and the jury, he spoke softly and gently to her, he spoke firmly and with disgust in his voice as he carefully told the jury how to feel. Emily began to grow tired though. She pushed her back straight when it began to curve the slightest bit, cocked her head from one side to the other, shifted in her seat, swallowed to avoid a yawn.

After another fifteen minutes, Beam addressed the judge. "Your Honor, this is a good stopping point, might we recess for lunch?"

The judge nodded. "Court will resume in one hour." He banged his gavel.

Hotch glanced at his watch. 12:30. Jesus, Emily had been up there for three hours already. He watched her move from the witness box and walk stiffly toward him. Hotch met her as she walked through the short, swinging door in the fence that separated the spectators from the players.

"How are you?" He asked.

Emily shrugged. "Wondering if I'm going to have to spend all day sitting in that damn box."

"Probably," he said, offering her an apologetic smile.

"I can feel him looking at me, Hotch. Like he's trying to burn a hole in me with his eyes."

He squeezed her shoulder gently. "Let's get out of here and get something to eat."

She glanced quickly around. "Just you?",

"I didn't want anyone else sitting in in case the DA decides he wants testimony from some of the team." And Morgan was scheduled to testify already, so he couldn't sit in.

"You think he might need them?"

Hotch shook his head. "Doubtful, but you can never be too sure."

"I guess you'd be the one to know."

"You should have seen the look JJ gave me when I told her she couldn't come."

Emily chuckled. "I'm sure she'll get over it."

They ate a quiet lunch during which Hotch had to nag her to eat, since the trial was apparently hampering her appetite, and then returned to the courtroom. He did not miss the dour expression on her face. "I've seen men on their way to be executed look less miserable, Emily."

That got her to smile. Hotch gave her hand a squeeze as they parted ways. And then she was called again and Beam walked her through her testimony for another hour and a half. One fortunate side effect was that the jury members were all looking pretty sympathetic, and Beam had played straight into it, apologizing to Emily for the length of the questioning and acknowledging that she must be tired and jetlagged and assuring her that he only had a few questions left. Then he asked her about the consult she'd had with the plastic surgeon.

"Doctor Porter said that the laser surgery could help flatten the scars, but that it would depend on the scars, and even if it worked, there would still be scars. He said that my doctors here had done a good job with my surgeries, so that there wasn't much left for them to do to improve the scars."

"So, Mr. Walter's attack left you permanently scarred then?

"Yes."

"Thank you, Emily," he said, before turning to the judge. "I have no further questions for Ms. Prentiss, your honor."

The judge nodded and turned toward the defense table, where not Daniels, but a Marilyn Fisher sat, prepared to defend Walters. Several months ago he'd fired Daniels and gotten himself a female attorney, a move that was not uncommon for abusers and rapists. "Then how about a five minute recess before you begin cross, Ms. Fisher?"

"Actually your honor, I have no questions for Ms. Prentiss at this time, though I reserve the right to recall her at a later time."

Hotch frowned; she had reserved her opening statement earlier. The defense had the right to do either, but neither was common practice. He stared at the defense attorney and tried to figure out what was going on inside her head.

"Alright then. We'll take a five minute recess and then Mr. Beam, you can call your next witness."

He did not see Emily during the recess, but he did text the team and assure them that everything was fine and that Emily was done testifying for today. The next witness called was a plastic surgeon the prosecution had obtained, who basically reiterated that Emily was permanently scarred. He used photos and the consult by Emily's plastic surgeon to analyze the burns. Then Fisher asked a handful of questions, which ultimately resulted in the doctor admitting that he'd never personally examined Emily and that they wouldn't know how much they could fix until they tried. Then another recess was called.

When they resumed, Beam called Morgan to the stand. He was the outcry witness, a term usually used in rape cases to describe the first person in whom the victim confides. Morgan talked about the evening she'd first showed up at his apartment and the night Emily had finally admitted that she was being abused, his observations of her bruises and the text message harassment that he had observed. The last thing he talked about was the call he'd received from the police after Walters had burned Emily and explained why he'd immediately identified Walters as the attacker.

The prosecutor only needed an hour and fifteen minutes for Morgan.

"Agent Morgan, what did the defendant then say to you?"

"He said 'You really think any man would touch her now, with all those ugly scars?'"

Then Beam turned it over to the defense.

"Agent Morgan," Fisher began, "did you ever personally observe Mr. Walters assault Ms. Prentiss?"

"No, I didn't."

"And when the police transported Mr. Walters back to DC, do you remember the circumstances of the transport?"

"He was still fighting, so they transported him as an EDP, which basically means they put him in a bag that covered everything but his face and kept him totally restrained."

"EDP that means emotionally disturbed person, correct?"

"Yes."

Fisher turned to the judge. "No further questions your honor."

What? Hotch was startled, and could tell by the turning heads and soft murmurs that everyone else was just as puzzled. Morgan was frowning deeply and looking just as confused as the rest of them. She only asked him three questions. Hotch couldn't remember another time he'd seen an attorney ask an important witness only three questions on cross.

What the hell did this woman have up her sleeve?

* * *

The team met for dinner that night, just a quiet evening at his home and Rossi was happy to have them. He made angel hair with a creamy sauce of garlic and scallops and bought some fresh bread from a bakery he liked. JJ was bringing salad, Reid and Garcia were making desserts and everyone else was bringing wine. Rossi had it heating on the stove when they all started to arrive. JJ and Hotch immediately sent the kids to play, both boys having already eaten something with less fish in it. When he saw Emily, he pulled her in for a tight hug.

"Ciao Bella, come stai?"

Emily shrugged. "Sto bene. Che puzza deliziosa."

"Grazie. This is a recipe that came over with my grandmother on the boat. Back in her village, her great-great-great grandmother started making it when babies were born. She made this to celebrate when both mother and child survived, because food and money were scarce and medical treatment wasn't what it was today, so surviving was truly a triumph."

"Did your grandmother continue that tradition?"

"She did, and one of my cousins still does." They chatted idly as everybody milled around opening wine and setting the table. Rossi set the pasta water to boil while JJ dished up the salad.

Pretty soon they were gathered eating and chattering pleasantly. He noted that Emily and Morgan sat next to each other, and wondered about the new closeness he'd seen in them. She was staying with Derek, so they'd clearly worked out whatever issue caused her to stay with him after her injuries.

"So Aaron, you're a prosecutor, how's the trial looking to you?" He turned to his friend.

"I don't know. The prosecutor is doing well, he has the jury thinking of nothing but Emily's injuries, but I can't figure out the defense's strategy," he said.

"Yeah, you mentioned that. She's going with insanity though, isn't she?"

"For the assault in the park yes, but she can't argue insanity for the stalking and the assault at the coffee shop." Hotch sighed. "I thought this would be an easy win, but now I have a nagging feeling that that's no longer the case."

Garcia who was nearby and had been listening in, said, "Is your prosecutor spidey-sense tingling?"

Hotch almost smiled. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"What's up for tomorrow?" Dave asked.

"The district's psychologist, and then the defense will open their case, which will probably start with their psychologist. I don't know when Prentiss will get called again."

"Should I expect another four and half hours, Hotch?" She asked, and Rossi noted she hadn't eaten much of her food.

"Hopefully not, but it's possible it could take that long or close to it." Hotch offered her an apologetic nod, which Emily accepted with a nod of her own. Her gaze then went to her food, which she swished around with her fork.

"You sound worried, sir," Garcia said, her voice soft, her brown eyes almost watery with worry as she stared at Hotch. She wanted to hear that Walters would be convicted and everything would be alright.

Hotch offered only a simple nod. It left a sick feeling in Dave's stomach. If the bastard actually got off, he'd come after Emily again, no matter which side of the ocean she was on.

Dave alternated between trying not to think about this and trying to think up a solution if Walters was acquitted, a way to get rid of the man for good. His brain was exhausted when they finally moved to his living room to sit together and chat, but he wasn't so tired that he didn't notice the arm Morgan slung across the couch behind Emily. Or how she moved closer instead of further away, or when Morgan curved that arm around her. He certainly didn't miss the looks exchanged among the rest of them, every one of them wondering about it and wondering if any of the others was already aware of it.

He remembered how they'd gotten the last psycho off her tail. He'd rather that they not have to resort to homicide again, but he certainly wouldn't cry for Walters. He looked at his two friends, almost cuddled together on his sofa, and he knew if Walters was acquitted, Morgan would prepare himself to use that solution.

* * *

_Apologies if the Italian is inaccurate I used Google to translated. There were no scenes in Emily or Derek's head this chapter, but there will be next chapter and many more to come. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. And Happy New Year!_


	18. Chapter 18

Hotch was beginning to remember why he didn't miss being in the courtroom. Days of sitting in the same room with the same stale air and the same bored faces staring back at him had the effect of sucking his soul out a bit at a time. He'd already nodded off once, even with his new hobby of taking notes on the trial, like all the nosy reporters that had yet to get bored and say to hell with the trial coverage. Taking notes helped him focus and stay awake and gave him something to do to break-up the staleness of the day. He tapped his pen on his notepad and yawned as he waited for everyone to return from the lunch recess.

The prosecution's psychologist had been in the witness stand for the whole morning, insisting that Reece wasn't insane, but fit the profile of an abuser almost perfectly. Hotch had to agree, everything he'd seen of Reece's behavior pointed to a man who was controlling, manipulative and narcissistic. And he'd picked Emily to control, manipulate and abuse into a submissive shell of a human being. But he'd miscalculated and pushed her too hard too quickly, and Emily had broken free of him.

The sound of a door opening and the chatter in the courtroom instantly stopping drew Hotch's attention to the judge, who had just walked in and taken her seat. She called the court to order and instructed Fisher to proceed with her opening statement.

"Good afternoon ladies and gentleman, I hope you all had a nice lunch break. For the last few days you've heard testimony from a lot of people and listened to a lot of doctors tossing around big words. We don't dispute Ms. Prentiss' injuries. They are horrifying and grotesque and my heart breaks for her. No one should have to suffer what she went through, no one. To do that to someone, to set another human being on fire, well it would take a sick, disturbed individual to do something like that. To douse a woman in vodka, to throw a lit lighter at her as she ran desperately toward safety, to watch the fire consume her body, eat away at her flesh, to lift the bottle to dump more vodka on her to make sure the job was finished, well that truly takes a monster, a madman. And to do it in a public park crawling with people, well that would take a man that was truly insane." Fisher paused and turned back to look at her client.

She turned back to face the jury as she continued. "It would take a man so crazy with grief over losing the person he loves most in the world, over losing his job, a person who was so consumed with the downward spiral his life was taking that he snapped. He snapped and tried to take control of the only thing he could have control over. His girlfriend. Or rather, his ex-girlfriend, because she had already found a new man by then. She had moved on. The agony of that betrayal, that heartbreak pushed my client to do the unthinkable. Had he been sane at the time of the incident, then maybe he would have realized that the death of his beloved Emily would be even more painful than losing her to another man, and that he would come to regret putting her through so much pain because he loved her so much. Had he been sane, he would never have wished such pain on her. But he had lost the love of his life, and even chasing her across the ocean, sending desperate text after desperate text, and holding onto her so tightly he left bruises as he begged her to not leave him one day in a coffee shop, could not stop her from leaving him. And that desperation, that loss, coupled with losing his job left him feeling like his life was falling apart and he spiraled into insanity that led to the tragedy that brings us all here today. And that's what you have to remember, ladies and gentleman, insanity. My client did not understand what he was doing at the time of the attack on Ms. Prentiss; he had no concept of right and wrong when he doused a woman in alcohol and lit her on fire. All he knew was pain, all he felt was pain, all he smelled, tasted and heard was pain."

Hotch glanced at the jury and his heart seemed to fall to his feet when he saw the looks of sympathy on the jurors' faces. He watched a couple look over at the defense table, where Reece was looking miserable and offering him sympathetic smiles. And this was why Hotch hated juries. They were so easily led, so easily played by skilled attorneys, and their loyalties flitted from one side to the other as they weaved their stories with pretty or painful words. Fisher had played them masterfully, and Hotch was certain that she was only getting started.

She then called her first witness, the forensic psychologist testifying for the defense.

* * *

Morgan came home to find Emily at his stove sauteing something in a pan, Clooney sitting beside her, his tail thumping on the floor. The dog turned to look at him and panted in greeting. Morgan walked up behind Emily and rested a hand on her shoulder, hoping she wouldn't tense. She did, but only a little and soon relaxed into his light touch. He really wanted to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her body tight against his own as he kissed her mouth, but she was still hesitant with touch and insecure about her scars, so they were going slowly. Morgan pressed his lips to the side of her head and went to back away, but Emily grabbed his shirt with her free hand and pulled him closer, her mouth settling on top of his ten glorious seconds.

Then she pulled away and smiled at him. "How was work?"

He shrugged. "The usual. Got a nasty consult and needed to talk it over with Rossi, I think we got a pretty good handle on the killer though and hopefully the profile will help the locals...has Hotch filled you in on the trial yet today?"

"Yeah, I guess the defense gave a pretty good opening statement, enough that it has Hotch worried."

"Yeah, but a strong opening statement doesn't mean a strong case."

"All she needs to do is give the jurors reasonable doubt. If they think there is even a chance that Reece was insane with grief over losing me, they will acquit."

"Well, the prosecutor will prove that he wasn't crazy, but just an abusive asshole that attacked you because he couldn't stand the thought of losing control over you."

"Let's hope," she said.

"What are you making?" Derek asked.

"Fajitas."

His eyebrows rose. "You were in the mood for Mexican?"

"They're fun, and I could use some fun, even if it is just food."

"We could always go out and do something if you want," he offered.

She wrinkled her nose. "My face has been all over the news with this trial, I'd rather stay in and avoid all the staring."

Morgan nodded. "Then let me just get changed and we'll see if we can find something funny on TV, okay?"

She smiled. "Sounds perfect."

Later, after enjoying their fajitas and a couple of beers, Morgan found himself relaxing on his sofa with Emily snuggled against his side, his arm curled around her. He pressed his lips against the top of her head, happy that she was comfortable enough to let him hold her. He'd been afraid that even after all of their talking over the last year, all of their connecting, that the physical part might be too difficult for her. That the memories of being manhandled and abused and betrayed by a man that she loved, a man who claimed to have loved her, would haunt her every time he touched her and leave her bracing for the moment when the touches of love and affection became the striking and grabbing and shaking out of anger and hate.

"Derek?" She interrupted his thoughts.

"Yeah, you okay?" He pulled away from the screen to look down at her, but her eyes were still fixed on Amy Poehler and her _Parks and Rec_ crew.

Emily nodded, her head shifting against his chest. "What happens if the jury acquits?"

"I don't know, I suppose he'll go home and the London police will arrest him and have their shot at him. They will be able to bring in all the evidence of abuse."

"And if a London jury hears that an American jury acquitted and decides to do the same?"

"You think he'll keep trying to come after you?"

She sighed. "I know he will. You know the profile as well as I do, he won't be able to let this go, it's too big an insult to his ego. Not only did I walk away, but I got him fired and dragged him into court. He'll have to punish me for disobeying, for thinking I can live without him, for thinking I don't deserve everything he did to me."

Derek tightened his arm around her, and laced his fingers with hers. "Well, if that's the case and both sides of the pond acquit, though I think that's unlikely, then maybe you and I should pack some bags and disappear for a while."

She started, her head snapping up to look at him. "What?"

"If he's on the street, you aren't safe. But if we disappeared for a while, he'll eventually lose interest, though it might take a few years to be on the safe side."

"You'd seriously do that? You'd disappear with me? Not see your mother or sisters? Not see Garcia for three years, five years, maybe even a decade?" She was sitting up now, regarding him with wide eyes.

Derek sighed. "It would suck not to see everyone, but yeah, of course I would, I..." he froze and looked away from her, not sure if he should finish his thought. Then he realized that his willingness to run away with her probably gave it away anyway. "I love you."

Morgan watched her blink, her eyes suddenly watery and was almost startled when she suddenly leaned forward and kissed him, her lips firm and insistent. Then she pulled away enough to wrap her arms tightly around him and whisper with her mouth so close her breath brushed over his ear. "I love you too."

He held her tightly, enjoying the moment they'd just shared and knowing that she felt the same way about him as he did her. "So, you feel better now that we have a plan?"

She pulled back, her eyes still wet. "I feel better just being with you, Derek, but I couldn't let you leave your whole life behind to runaway with me."

"Then you have a better idea?"

"I don't know...do you?" She looked almost hopeful.

"I've got one other idea that would provide a more permanent solution, but I think you'd like that one even less."

She offered a confused frown for several seconds, then her eyes widened as she realized what he was suggesting. "Oh, I hope you aren't alluding to what I think you might be alluding to."

"With Reid's help I could do it without leaving any forensic evidence. We could probably even figure a fool-proof way to dispose of the body. No body homicides are rarely prosecuted and even when they are, they aren't usually successful."

Emily began shaking her head, her hand tightening over his t-shirt where it had been resting over his heart. "No, no, no, no, no. Not happening. You aren't committing murder for me. And you're certainly not roping Reid into a homicide plot on my behalf."

"He would do it though, Em."

She began to shake her head violently again. "No. Neither of you are committing any felonies on my behalf, I won't allow it." She held up a hand. "I won't allow you or anyone else to have that on your conscience."

"I told you that you wouldn't like it." He ran a hand up and down her arm trying to soothe her. "If it comes down to it, we'll just go with our original plan to runaway, and no, you can't stop me from going with you."

Her body slowly settled back against his, though one hand remained tensed around his t-shirt.

* * *

_As promised a little Morgan/Prentiss snuggling. Thanks so much everyone for the reviews on the last chapter! And thank you to the people who nominated this story and Fallen for the Profilers Choice Awards, you guys are awesome!_


	19. Chapter 19

The baliff waved at hand at her, gesturing he toward the courtroom, Fisher had called her up for cross and as Emily stood, she felt her insides start to liquify. She had no reason to be nervous, she hadn't done anything wrong, and needed only to tell the truth, but god, as she walked down the aisle toward the witness' stand, she felt it was the gallows at the end instead.

After being sworn in, Fisher walked up her. "Good Morning, Ms. Prentiss, I'm sorry to have to pull you back in here."

Emily nodded. "No problem."

Fisher smiled. "Great, why don't we start easy okay, can you remind the jury for how long you were seeing my client?"

"We were together for six months."

"And who broke it off?"

"I did."

"And did you sit Mr. Walters down and tell him that you no longer wanted to be in a relationship with him?"

"No."

"Did you tell him over the phone?"

"No."

"Via email? Text maybe?"

"No."

"That's right, you packed a bag, got on a flight to Washington, D.C., and stayed in the home of another man...right?"

"Sort of."

"Yes or no, please."

Emily's jaw tensed. "Sort of."

"Yes, or no, Ms. Prentiss, you did not tell Mr. Walters before you packed a bag and got on a plane?"

"No, I didn't tell him, but I-"

Fisher held up a hand, cutting her off. "That's sufficient," she paused and walked closer to the jury box. "So Mr. Walters came home after work that day to find that you had just left."

"I suppose so."

"And when you arrived in D.C., you immediately went to the home of Derek Morgan. Why did you go there?"

"Because he has a spare room."

"Yes, but you lived in D.C. for several years, you have lots of friends here, many of whom have spare rooms, so why choose Mr. Morgan's home?"

Emily glanced at her hands briefly, formulating her words, before looking up and answering the lawyer. "Derek was my partner for six years. For six years, he had my back and I had his when we were in the field, risking our lives, and I guess...I guess I was just in a place where I needed to feel like someone had my back."

"That wasn't all though, was it?"

"What do you mean?"

"You were part of a six-agent team when you were with the FBI, is that accurate?"

"And one technical analyst, yes."

"So, you routinely backed-up the other members of your team and they backed you up as well, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"So, any one of your former teammates would have had your back and you would have trusted them to do that?"

"Yes."

"And while you're in town to testify, where are you staying?"

"I'm staying with Agent Morgan."

Fisher barely suppressed a smile as she looked at the jury, before turning back to Emily. "Ms. Prentiss are you romantically involved with Agent Morgan?"

Emily looked at D.A. Beam at the prosecution's table, but he was already on his feet, speaking. "Objection, relevance, Your Honor."

"Ms. Fisher?"

"It's relevant to my alternate theory of the crime."

The judge sighed. "It better be. Overruled. Proceed Ms. Fisher."

The attorney nodded and focused back on Emily. "So Ms. Prentiss, yes or no, are you romantically involved with Agent Morgan?"

"Currently, yes."

"So you left Mr. Walters without so much as a word and went to stay in the home of a man with whom you are romantically involved." Fisher paused and sighed. "I won't ask you if you were having an affair with Agent Morgan, since I'm sure you'll deny it."

"Objection, counsel is testifying." Beam said, seeming almost tired with the process.

"Sustained. Ask a question Ms. Fisher."

"Of course, my apologies your honor." Fisher then turned again to Emily. "While we're discussing Agent Morgan, you said he was your partner for the six years you were assigned to the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit?"

"That's correct."

"And during your time assigned to the BAU," she paused and walked back to the defense table, picking up a file, and reading form it, "you suffered a concussion while bringing in a suspect in 2007. In 2008, you suffered numerous contusions to the face and body and a laceration on your arm that required stitches. In 2009, you suffered another concussion, more contusions and another arm laceration that required stitches. In 2010, in two separate incidents, you suffered two broken and several bruised ribs, and then a burst eardrum. In a 2011, though it's been classified and completely redacted, an incident you were involved in resulted in unspecified injuries that caused you to be put on life support. And finally in 2012, you were treated for a gunshot wound to the shoulder. Is that all accurate?"

"Yes, that sounds accurate."

"That's an unusual amount of injuries, even for an FBI agent, yes?"

"Yes, but I was assigned to a specialized unit, we dealt with the most dangerous predators the country has to offer."

"Alright then. The other agents on your team, Agent Morgan for instance, has he received as many injuries?"

"No, he didn't."

"Yet, he's been assigned to the BAU for over a decade now, isn't that correct?"

"That's correct."

"And baring the incidents we're discussing here, how many injuries have you suffered since moving to London?"

"None."

"And before joining the BAU, where did you work?"

"I worked in intelligence, I can't specify anything beyond that."

"Another dangerous job then?"

"Yes, I suppose."

"And while working in this unspecified intelligence position, how many concussions did you suffer, how many broken ribs, how many stitches and bruises?"

"I can't answer that."

"You don't know?"

"I know the answer, but the information is classified."

"Of course it is." She walked back to the prosecutor's table, picked up two photo exhibits, and handed it to Emily. "You testified earlier that these photos were taken in D.C. and that those bruises on your back and wrist, they were given to you buy Mr. Walters?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"So, you join the BAU, you rack up an inordinate amount of injuries, even for an FBI agent, even for an FBI agent assigned to _your_ unit and _your _team, and then you move to London, the injuries stop. Then you come back to D.C., back to Agent Morgan and look like this." She held up the photos and then passed them to the jury.

Emily's eyes widened at Fisher's assertion and she opened her mouth to protest, but the lawyer swiftly cut her off. "I'd like to introduce defense exhibit H to the record." She held up an item in a plastic protector for a sheet of paper and brought it over to Emily. "Can you tell me what this is?"

Emily's heart caught in her throat as she stared at the news clipping. "It's a newspaper article."

"From what paper and what date?"

"The Boston Globe, it's dated March 8, 2011."

"And can you read the headline for us?"

"FBI Agent Killed in Southie Bust."

"And read the first two sentences please."

"A drug bust by the FBI in warehouse in South Boston ended with a shoot-out yesterday that left most of the suspects and one FBI agent dead. Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss, age 40, a member of the FBI's specialized Behavioral Analysis Unit was killed in what-"

"That's enough. And there's a small photo with the article, isn't there? What's it of?"

"It's photo the Bureau took for my ID earlier that year."

"So, we have a newspaper article announcing your death, and yet you're testifying in a courtroom. Are you a ghost, Ms. Prentiss?"

"Objection, Your Honor, that's a ridiculous question, obviously, Ms. Prentiss isn't dead. Can we move on now?"

"This line of questioning goes to Ms. Prentiss' credibility, Your Honor."

The judge released a heavily put upon sigh. "Ms. Prentiss, please tell the court why the Boston Globe felt it necessary to announce your death."

"My death was faked for my own safety. I'm afraid that's all I can tell you."

"So you lied then?"

"Yes."

"That's a very big lie, Ms. Prentiss, but I'm sure your loved ones were aware that it was a lie, weren't they?"

"Not most of them, no."

"So, you lied to the people who love you about something huge, interesting..."

"Is there a question in there, Ms. Fisher?" Emily sniped.

"As I understand it, you have a reputation in the intelligence industry-"

"I told you, I can't answer any questions about that, everything I did or didn't do is classified."

"I understand, this won't betray any of your work. Just yes or no, you have a reputation in the intelligence field for being exceptional at undercover work."

"I cannot answer that."

"Even that you can't comment on? Then I suppose you also can't confirm that being exceptional at undercover work, you told a lot of lies in your career and were very good at telling those lies."

"Objection! Your Honor, Ms. Prentiss has already explained that she can't divulge classified information, so Ms. Fisher is once again testifying."

"Sustained. Ms. Fisher, unless you have further questions for Ms. Prentiss that do not involve her career previous to the FBI, I'm going to ask you to relieve her as a witness."

"Just a few, Your Honor." The judge gave her the go-ahead to proceed and her "few" questions actually took another two hours. When the judge was about to release her, Beam jumped up and asked to redirect, demanding to do it before they took lunch. It took all her restraint not to grown out loud.

"I know you've been up here all day Emily, but I just have a few questions for you. First off, a year ago, when you left Mr. Walters and flew into Washington, D.C., did you do so with the intention of having an affair with Agent Morgan?"

"No, I did not."

"Were you intimately involved with Derek Morgan at that time or at any time prior?"

"No, at that point we weren't romantically involved and had never been, and we'd never been intimate together."

"Were you in love with Agent Morgan at the time?"

"No, I wasn't."

"But you loved the defendant, Mr. Walters, didn't you?"

Emily looked at her hands, her breath catching in her throat. When she finally looked up, she made sure to avoid Reece's face. "Yes, I loved him."

"And as for the injuries you received during your tenure with the FBI," Beame looked down at his notepad. "Ms. Fisher mentioned that in 2008, you received a concussion, laceration and numerous bruises, can you tell the court how that happened?"

"I and another agent were uncover with a religious group, when the group members decided to take us hostage. Thanks to the media, they discovered that one of us was an FBI agent, and when the group's leader put a gun to the head of my colleague, I told him I was the agent, and then he assaulted me. I'm told that the Bureau has an audio recording of the whole thing."

"That was very brave of you."

Emily shifted around in her seat. "Uh, thanks."

"And when you received similar injuries the following year, what happened then?"

"I was with a police officer, transporting a prisoner that we'd just apprehended. The prisoner, however, had an associate who drove a truck into our sedan, sending our vehicle rolling down an embankment."

"And the broken ribs? The gunshot wound?"

Emily how she got the injuries and answered Beame's questions about the other injuries she'd received, explaining once again that everything from 2011 was classified, so she couldn't talk about it.

Beame walked to the prosecution's table, where his second chair handed him something. "Your honor, I'd like to enter into evidence, People's exhibits 23-31, photos of Ms. Prentiss taken prior to the ones already entered into evidence."

Fisher leapt out of her seat, "Objection! Your honor, those photos were already excluded in pre-trial motions!"

The judge exhaled. "Counselors approach, please." He covered the microphone as they spoke, but Emily could still hear them. Beame said the photos were for rebuttal and after some argument, the judge allowed the photos with the caveat that he only use them for rebuttal and was not permitted to ask how they injuries were sustained.

"My apologies, Ms. Prentiss," Beame said as he picked up where he left off. "Do you recognize these photos? Where and when were they taken?"

Emily only glanced at them. "Yes. They were taken by the London police, two days before I flew to Washington."

"So that's two days before you saw Agent Morgan, when you were in London and still involved with Mr. Walters?"

"Yes, at that point I hadn't seen Agent Morgan in several months, and the police took the photos the morning I decided to end things with Reece, um Mr. Walters, so yes, I had been with him until I left my apartment earlier that morning."

"Going back to your injuries with the FBI for a minute. Did you make the decision to fake your own death?"

"No, I did not."

"In fact, you were unconscious at the time and others made that decision for you, isn't that right?"

"That's correct."

"You didn't know that your death had been faked until your friends and family had already buried you, is that accurate?"

"Yes, I was sedated and on life support for several days."

"So, you went along with a lie that had already been told and done its damage and that was designed to protect you, after you'd survived injuries that had actually very nearly killed you?"

"That's correct."

"Thank you, Ms. Prentiss," he said to her, before turning to the judge. "No further questions, your honor."

Emily started to turn toward the judge waiting to be released from the witness stand, but her eyes got stuck on Reece. His gaze was fixed on her with a look of such betrayal, a look that said the person he loved most in the world had just ripped his heart out and and filleted it like expensive beef. A lump caught in her throat and her heart began to pound as she seemed to freeze into that look, that look that she had put on his face. That look that was mixed with the anguish and remorse that had graced his face every time he hurt her. And that was what finally pulled her out of that look. Every time he hurt her.

He had betrayed her long before she had hurt him. Emily straightened her spine and sealed away her guilt; she ripped her eyes away from his and regarded the judge.

It was over.

* * *

Hotch watched the prosecutor pace around as he spoke, weaving his oratory, his last attempt to sway the jury to his side. But he was using too much technical talk, being too clinical, he was losing the jury. Then he just...stopped. He went silent and stopped pacing and didn't move for several seconds. When he did finally unfreeze, he excused himself and took a sip of water, then he cleared his throat and walked right up to the jury box.

"I've been trying to explain to you how domestic violence works, how a strong, beautiful, intelligent woman with a high-powered job, who spent her career proving her courage and fearlessness, can become of victim of that sort of violence. But for most people, domestic violence is a difficult thing to understand, more difficult still to understand why someone like Emily Prentiss, who has gone toe-to-toe with cannibals and serial killers, terrorists and sexual sadists, couldn't walk away from her boyfriend. So, I'm going to stop trying to explain and I'm going to tell you a story." He paused and began to pace with slow deliberate steps. "It starts when a girl met a boy, and he made her feel butterflies in her stomach."

Hotch listened to the story that he already knew, though this version had been sanitized of any specific incidents that occurred in London, as the judge wouldn't allow them in. It wasn't unusual, Walters hadn't been convicted of them and they occurred in another country, most judges would have thrown them out. It was still a painful story though, more so to him, because he knew how hard it was for Emily to open up and trust anyone. She had given the bastard a gift and he'd tried to break her with it.

Clyde Easter's words came back to him at that moment and turned his stomach, because Hotch knew he was right. If Reece hadn't abused Emily so badly over that three-day weekend, if he'd waited a few months, she'd have stayed with him. And by now she'd have been so broken, they wouldn't even recognize her.

Hotch glanced at Reece Walters; the other man's eyes were fixed on the jury, but he looked almost bored. His shoulders were slightly slouched and his mouth was a straight line. Hearing about how he tried to burn his ex-girlfriend to death didn't move him at all.

As the prosecutor winded down the story of Emily's relationship with Reece, and how it ended with a lighter and a bottle of vodka, he let his gaze briefly wander to the defense table. "And Ms. Fisher insists that only an insane man would light a woman on fire, only an insane man would do it in a public park. But that's not true. Mr. Walters was not insane, he knew what he was doing was wrong and he understood the consequences, after all, he fled the scene. But more importantly, he was not some love-sick Romeo irrational and desperate at the thought of losing his Juliet. Romeo never tried to kill Juliet, the idea of her death was so painful that he took his own life. No, as the FBI profiler explained, Mr. Walters was furious, livid that Ms. Prentiss had the gall to break free of him. Livid that the one thing he felt he had control over, that he'd spent months developing that control over, was suddenly uncontrollable."

"Ms. Prentiss crossed an ocean to get away from Mr. Walters, to be safe. But he followed, and he tried to charm her back into his violent and manipulative arms; when that failed he set her on fire, because he had to destroy her. Because he failed to take her will, he failed to destroy that courage and strength that is solely hers, and instead he attempted to take her life. He left her permanently scarred, permanently disfigured. So I'm going to ask you to convict Mr. Walters, because he knew exactly what he was doing, he even told Agent Morgan so, when he said that now no man would want Ms. Prentiss anymore, not with all the scars. He was wrong, as we all know. Mr. Walters needs to be held accountable for the torment and the pain he caused Ms. Prentiss, he needs to be held accountable for attempting to take her life, and Ms. Prentiss deserves to be able to rest her head at night knowing that he's locked away, that she's finally safe."

Hotch surveyed the jury, and he was buoyed by the looks on their faces, the looks of pained empathy. They were feeling for Emily, they were feeling her pain, her fear, her heartbreak, and god, he hoped they kept feeling it.

* * *

_Only two or three more chapters left for this story. __Thanks again everyone for reading and reviewing!_


	20. Chapter 20

The jury had the case.

Right at that very moment, the jury was deciding on whether to believe that she was a victim of abuse or a two-timing whore. Emily felt queasy.

She maneuvered her fork around without any thought, pushing the jambalaya around the plate, but eating very little. It was a shame, because Will had a knack for cooking the food of his hometown, and jambalaya was one of his best. But she wasn't hungry, she was too anxious and nauseous to be hungry. She felt a hand rest on top of hers under the table, and without looking turned her palm up, so she could lace their fingers together.

Derek leaned toward her, his thumb rubbing slowly over the back of her hand. "You're not hungry?"

She grimaced. "Not really. Don't feel like eating."

"It's going to be okay, no matter what happens when the jury comes back. We have a plan, remember that."

Her grimace didn't not change. Their plan to run away still left a bit to be desired in her mind. She didn't want to drag Derek away from his family, his life, the team, that wasn't fair, and that certainly wasn't what he signed up for when they shyly told each other that they wanted to be together.

Henry came running up to the table then, having long since gotten bored and left the dull grown-ups for the TV. "Mommy! Mommy!" He yelled as he ran up to her. "Aunt Emily is on TV!"

"Oh yeah?" JJ was grimacing now. "Weren't you watching Wild Kratts?"

"It got boring, so I changed the channel and saw Aunt Emily on TV." He suddenly turned and looked at Emily and yelped, "Aunt Emily, you're on TV!"

"Lucky me," she said.

"It's so cool!"

"Henry," Will called getting his attention. The boy turned to look at his father. "No news without me or mom, you know the rules."

"I didn't mean to put it on," he said, then frowned. "Why's Aunt Emily on the news?"

"It's grown-up stuff, honey," JJ said, rubbing his arm.

"Is it about the trial?" He asked, voice as sweet and innocent as a lollipop. Emily felt even more nauseated.

The table went dead silent, then Will spoke. "Where did you hear about that?"

"Last week, you asked Mommy when Aunt Emily was flying in for the trial." Henry paused. "What's a trial?"

"Uh," JJ began, "you know how Daddy and I catch the bad guys?" Henry nodded. "Before the bad guys to to jail, they have to go on trial, so a jury, a group of people, can decide if they should go to jail."

"Oh," he said, then his eyes bugged out and his mouth dropped open. "Aunt Emily's going to jail?!"

JJ's eyes bugged out then, but before she could answer, someone else did.

"Not Aunt Emily, her boyfriend," Jack said. He was still a baby-faced nine-year old, but he had his father's serious demeanor.

"Uncle Derek?!" Henry squeaked out.

"No, her boyfriend before Uncle Derek; he hurt Aunt Emily, so he's going to jail," Jack said. Emily sat frozen in her seat, a state which seemed to affect all the adults at the table as they realized that the kids knew more than they thought they did.

Emily breathed through her nose, willing herself not to vomit right there. The last thing she wanted was any of this touching the kids; she did not want to be the reason that they knew how ugly the world could be. Though she supposed that Jack was already aware of that.

"How do you know that?" Hotch asked his son.

"I heard you talking to Uncle Dave when we went to see Aunt Emily in the hospital last year, so I googled her name."

"So you know what happened then?" Hotch asked, slightly wincing.

Jack nodded. "I didn't watch the videos, though." He was looking glumly at his plate, and that was enough to tell Emily that Jack may not have watched the videos, but he sure knew what they showed.

"Your other boyfriend hurt you, Aunt Emily?" Henry asked, his face screwed up in confusion.

She bit her lip, not sure what to say to a seven year-old. Finally she sighed. "Yes, he did."

"He shouldn't do that, you shouldn't hurt your friends," he said and came around the table and threw his little arms around her. "Don't worry Aunt Emily, you're boyfriend and girlfriend with Uncle Derek now and Uncle Derek doesn't hurt his friends."

He was so sincere and innocent that Emily didn't know if she should laugh or cry.

After dinner, they sat in JJ's living room, everyone too anxious to go home yet and face a long night waiting for the ringing phone that would tell them that a verdict had been reached. Emily had seen Hotch take his son aside for a quiet conversation, and JJ and Will had put on a movie for Henry, to avoid anymore glimpses of the news. All four networks ran the cell phone footage of her burning in the park every time they talked about the story; it was disgusting and morbid and they clearly didn't give a shit about her friends or family. But news networks weren't known for their sensitivity.

When Hotch sat beside her, she turned to him. "Jack okay?"

Her former boss offered a shrug. "He doesn't really understand why Walters hurt you, and he wants to." Hotch sighed. "Just like he wants to understand why a man killed his mother."

"Oh Hotch, I'm so sorry," she gave his hand a squeeze.

"It's okay, it's actually good that I know it's still on his mind, that he still remembers some of that day. I told him that it was okay to talk to me about it, to ask questions if he has any."

"Did he?"

"Not yet, or at least, none that he was comfortable asking me about yet."

"Can I try talking to him?"

"Of course...just let me know if there is anything I need to know." Emily nodded and pulled herself off the sofa, heading over to where Jack was sitting on the floor, reading a book.

She lowered herself down beside him. "Hey Jack, what are you reading?"

He showed her the cover. "It's pretty good."

"That's good...you like to read?"

He nodded. "Yeah, more than most of the kids in my class."

"So, when did you start adding google search results to your list of reading materials?"

"My teacher showed us how to do searches last year in computer class, this year computer class is easy, so when I finish my work I have free time."

"So, you searched my name and I guess your mother's?"

He nodded. "I read about the man who killed her, I didn't tell Dad...talking about Mom makes him sad."

"Yeah, I know it does, but that doesn't mean you can't talk to him about it."

Jack set his book down and looked at her. "Why are some men bad?"

Emily inhaled. "Lots of different reasons, Jack. But the most honest answer to that, is that they just are. The man who killed your mom, there was something broken in his brain, so he didn't feel or think the way you or I do. He couldn't understand other people's feelings and he couldn't feel bad for what he did, some people are just born that way."

"Is that why your boyfriend hurt you?"

"Not exactly. Some men hurt the people who love them, because they know those people won't leave. And hurting someone makes them feel better about themselves; it makes them feel powerful and in control, it makes them feel strong and smart."

"That's wrong," he said. "He wasn't any of those things. He was just mean."

"Yes, he was." They were silent for several minutes, Jack's little fingers traveling over the pages of his closed book. "Jack, I don't want you to worry about this anymore, okay? You let me and your dad and the rest of us grown-ups worry about it."

"But the articles said the that could let him go-"

Emily cut him off. "I'll be okay, I promise. We'll figure something out."

Jack stared at her with uncertain eyes, and Emily prayed silently in her head for a conviction and long prison sentence. She also hoped at that moment that she wasn't lying to Jack.

Emily didn't get the text until much later that night, or rather the next day. At 4:35 a.m., her phone beeped to alert her, and she untangled herself from Derek enough to reach for it and read the face:

_Jury reached a verdict, be in court at 8am._

* * *

It was 8:15 a.m. and court still hadn't been called to session. Emily sat next to him, her leg bouncing up and down, one hand grasping his and the other shoved under her thigh, so she wouldn't bit her nails. JJ was on her other side, and the rest of the team and Will were spread around them. They took up the entirety of the first bench behind the prosecutor's table. Beam was standing at the table, moving around and shuffling papers, trying to appear busy to cover the fact that he was just as anxious as they were.

Fisher sat at the defense table, looking almost bored as she scribbled on a yellow legal pad. Walters hadn't been brought in yet, which was fine, because if the jury acquitted, only Emily's hand in his would keep Derek from tearing the bastard apart with his bare hands. He was trying to talk himself out of just killing the bastard if the jury acquitted; mainly, he was reminding himself that Emily did not need to suffer through another trial. He picked up their joined hands and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. She turned and offered him a smile.

There was some movement at the back of the court then, and he turned to see two security officers walking on either side of Reece Walters, escorting him to the defense table and then backing away to stand by the courtroom wall.

"All rise," the bailiff finally called. "The honorable Judge Henry Meyers presiding." The judge came in and sat down, at which point the ballif added, "be seated."

The judge ordered the jury be brought in, and as they filed in, Morgan couldn't help but notice how exhausted they all looked. They powered through the night, so they could go home today and never come back, he couldn't really blame them. Meyers eyed them and asked the foreman to rise, which she did. She was an older woman, late sixties probably, her hair silvery and her skin filled with creases, but her green eyes were still bright as she responded. "We have, your honor."

"On the first count of the indictment, assault with intent to murder, how do you find?"

"We find the defendant guilty," she said, eyes never leaving the judge's.

Emily gasped beside him. Derek squeezed her hand tighter.

"On the second count of the indictment, malicious disfiguring, how do you find?"

"Guilty, your honor."

Morgan heard a soft breath escape from between Emily's lips.

"On the third count of in the indictment, stalking, how do you find?"

"Guilty. We find the defendant guilty of all the counts, your honor."

"So say you all?" The jurors all nodded their heads. "Very well, you are dismissed with the gratitude of this court. Your service is appreciated." After the jurors all filed out, Meyers turned his attention back to the attorneys. "I assume we can expect an appeal, Ms. Fisher?"

"Of course, your honor."

The judge nodded. "In the meantime, we'll gather tomorrow morning at 8:00 a.m. for the sentencing hearing." He tapped his gavel, rose and exited through the door he'd come in.

Beame turned around, a smile on his face. "Almost over Emily, we've just got to get through the sentencing tomorrow, and I've got the feeling that Meyers is going to send him away for a while."

"Good," Emily said, "that's good."

"So, I'd like you to prepare a statement to give at the hearing in the morning. You can say anything you want, nothing is off limits, not even the abuse that occurred in London. Whatever you say, it should all be aimed at why you want Reece to go away for as long as possible. Okay?"

"Yeah, I'll work on that."

He nodded and looked at the rest of team, all of them still sitting, seemingly frozen as they all absorbed the verdict. "As her family, you all are allowed to speak, though I'd advise limiting it to two, maybe three of you, there's more impact in two or three strong statement than all six of you droning on for hours."

"What's the minimum the judge could sentence him to?" Garcia asked.

"It will be above the minimum, you don't have to worry about that."

"But what is it?" Emily asked.

When Beame hesitated, Reid answered. "Two years."

"What?" Morgan gaped. "Two years? The son of a bitch could get only two years?"

Beamed held up a hand. "Only assault with intent has a minimum, which is two years, and if the judge sentences Walters to serve them concurrently, then yes, he could get as little as two years. But, the max for all three consecutively is 30 years, so it's not all bad."

"Two years," Emily said, her eyes unfocused. "All this and two years..."

"That's not going to happen, my guess is that the judge will aim for midway and give him ten or fifteen years."

"And he'll be out in five, and I'll...I'll still be covered in scars and wake up from nightmares still smelling my own burnt flesh." She then squeezed Derek's hand and stood up, pulling him with her. "I'll write-up a statement and see you tomorrow."

* * *

_Only one more chapter to go. I'm really glad you all seemed to enjoy the courtroom scenes, I had a lot of fun writing them. I'll be out of town next weekend, so I'm going to try to get the last chapter up before then, since it is the last chapter. Thanks again for the reviews!_

_And to my fellow East Coast residents, I hope you and all your loved ones made it through the blizzard safely!_


	21. Chapter 21

Emily's hands shook as she approached the podium, her heart thundering in her chest like a young filly trying to take home the Kentucky Derby trophy. She just needed to get this out, she needed to tell the judge to keep Reece in jail for as long as possible. Just one more hurdle to jump and it would all be over, she'd be free of all of this. Emily swallowed and her eyes briefly drifted to Reece, who was sitting at the defense table, looking far less cocky than he had the previous few days. His eyes burned into hers though, radiating hurt and sadness, but Emily looked away.

She cleared her throat and looked up at the judge. "Your honor," she greeted, nearly cringing at how loud her voice sounded in the painfully quiet courtroom. "I've been told by friends that I don't trust easily. I was raised by a career politician and moved around the world on what was practically a biannual basis, so I never really learned how to trust people. Then I began a career in intelligence and as you can imagine, I adapted easily to the constant state of paranoia and inability to trust anyone. I didn't really learn to trust until I began to work with my team at the FBI, and even still it didn't come naturally, it still doesn't. But I came to trust Reece. I believed that he loved me and that felt really good for a while. Then he started to tell me that I was worthless and damaged, and I believed him, so when he hit me, I figured that I deserved it. That he was just angry and frustrated, and it wasn't a big deal. And I've had far worse, so the physical pain wasn't anything that I couldn't handle. It got worse and kept getting worse, and I began to feel...broken. I didn't recognize myself anymore, and I still loved him and I hated myself for that. So, when I finally did leave him, I came to to D.C., because I knew my family could make me feel like myself again." Emily paused for a moment, and took a deep breath, swallowing down her emotion and collecting herself.

When she spoke again, she spoke of the events that occurred in D.C., the text stalking, the failure of a date, and ultimately the burning. She described in detail the pain, the fear, and the months of intensive medical care that followed. She talked about finally achieving a full range of motion after physical therapy. "And you'd think this nightmare would end there, but it hasn't," she said. "There are consequences that even I'm still learning...As you're aware, I've been seeing Agent Morgan, my former partner from when I was with the Bureau. He's a good man, one of the best I've ever met. But I still tense up every time he touches me, and it takes me a minute to relax. He's aware of that and tries not to take offense. But what I haven't told him, what I haven't been able to bring myself to tell him, because I know how much it will hurt him, is that whenever his hands move near me, especially quick motions, it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to back away. Because I'm stilling waiting for that hand to hit me, or grab my arm and twist it, and push me against a wall. And that's ridiculous, because Derek would never do that, not to me, not to any woman, and I know that, but I'm still always waiting. Waiting for the moment it all turns ugly, for the morning when I wake up and don't recognize him anymore. And I'm afraid that I'll always be waiting for that moment, for that hand to come down on me. So, even if you give him the maximum, even if he actually serves the whole sentence, it will still only be a fraction of mine. I will have scars for the rest of my life, as constant reminders of what he put me through, and I can only hope that the nightmares that leave me barely able to breathe with the sound of my own voice shrieking in agony still echoing in my head don't last the rest of my life. And I can only hope for the day I'm no longer waiting, waiting for the day Derek reaches out to me and instinct doesn't tell me to back away."

Emily swallowed and without looking at anyone, she hurried back to her seat. Derek got up and walked to the podium. She watched him swallow and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. For a full minute, he stood silent. When he opened his mouth again and inhaled, the breath shook all the way down to his chest. "Excuse me," he said, his voice cracking.

He walked back to where they all sat, and gestured a startled JJ to go up instead. When Derek didn't reach for her hand, Emily reached for his and after a moment of hesitation, he took it. She could tell that he was still trying to keep himself together, though whether he wanted to cry or scream or jump over the defense table and beat Reece into a fine puree, she wasn't sure. Probably all of the above.

JJ hadn't planned to speak, but she walked up and began to speak, finding her story after a few minutes of rambling. She spoke of how Reece's actions had hurt their whole family. How it pained them, and upset their kids when they saw Aunt Emily on the news and didn't really understand why her boyfriend hurt her. She spoke passionately, her voice cracking now and again, as she asked the judge to put Reece away and allow their family time to heal.

After she finished, it was Rossi's turn. He spoke of their little family as well, but then detoured to discussing the abuse cases he'd seen during his career. He talked of the damage domestic violence caused and the strength and courage a person needed to walk away from it all. And he talked about Emily. His voice was calm and soothing in that way David Rossi had, as he spoke plainly and in a manner that allowed for no argument. This was the way it was, he wasn't embellishing or using hyperbole, he didn't need to, because every word was true. "Emily's sense of compassion always extended far beyond the victims and their families to people that most would look at with disdain or disgust. And many of those injuries that Ms. Fisher listed on cross resulted, because Emily has a very long history of putting herself in harm's way to protect others, including myself and every person in that row of people." He gestured to their row, where their BAU family sat, determined to show their support. "And now it's Emily's turn to be shown compassion and to be protected by this court."

He gave her a squeeze on her shoulder as he shuffled back to his seat. Then Reece got up to speak. He spoke of how much he loved Emily, how he never meant to hurt her and how his setting her on fire was just a moment of insanity from his grief at losing her. "So I beg you, your honor, to show me compassion and mercy when you consider sentencing."

And that was it, the hearing was over. The judge recessed the court for lunch, stating that he'd have a decision after lunch, banged his gavel and disappeared back to his chambers. They all stood and looked at each other, Emily still joined to Derek by the hand. Reid spoke first. "There's a luncheonette a few blocks away from here."

There were nods and murmurs of agreement, except for Emily who was staring into space and Morgan who was staring at her. "You're not hungry?" He asked.

She turned to him. "Not really up to eating."

"Me neither. Walk?" She nodded her head and Derek turned to the rest of the group. "We're not really up for eating, so we're going for a walk. We'll meet you all back here later."

Then the walked out of the courthouse hand in hand and with no particular direction in mind. When they got to a park, with kids running around laughing and yelling, they stopped and sat together on a bench. After a few minutes of silently watching the children play, Emily inhaled. "Derek, what I said in court-"

"No, it's okay, you don't have to explain. You don't have to talk, just sit and relax before we have to go back in there, okay?" He was looking at her with his beautiful brown eyes filled with compassion and love, so she nodded.

"Thank you." Then she slid closer to him and let her head rest on his shoulder. Morgan released her hand, moving his arm behind her, so he could curl it around her, neither of them saying anything as she tensed at the movement and touch. Neither spoke when she finally began to relax or when he took his other hand and intertwined their fingers together. They just sat, enjoying the sunshine and high-pitched kid voices floating through the air.

But it was over too soon. And they marched back to the courthouse, once again hand in hand, and both tried to be calm, to pretend the judge's decision didn't matter. But their hands clenched tightly together showed that they'd already failed.

They got back to the courthouse before the team, but only by minutes. JJ slid in beside her, taking Emily's other hand, and Garcia sat by Derek, the rest filling in on either side. Then the judge called the court to session, and Emily's stomach flipped over.

"Mr. Walters," the judge began, Reece and Fisher still standing and both focused intently on the judge. "I've been on the bench for twenty years and was a defense attorney for another ten years before that. It's rare for me to experience revulsion these days, but congratulations, you've accomplished that. Now, I can't base my sentencing decision solely on that factor, instead I've chosen to base it on your actions. Mr. Walters, you've shown no signs of remorse for the pain and distress you've cause Ms. Prentiss. You pursued her across an ocean. You tried to kill her." He picked up a stack of photographs, tossing them down roughly as he spoke. "And before you tried to kill her, you did all this. You battered her emotionally, you physically abused her, and sexually assaulted her, then chased her to the US so you could drag her back to London to continue your torment. You taunted her via email, you harassed her via text and stalked her around the city. It is these actions on which I have based my sentencing recommendation, and I feel confident that my recommendation is appropriate. Mr. Walters, I am sentencing you to the maximum for each count of the indictment, to be served consecutively at Hazelton Penitentiary in West Virginia. That's 30 years and 180 days, Mr. Walters; though you will be eligible for parole after serving 15 years. Court dismissed." He slammed the gavel and once again disappeared back to his chambers.

Everyone was suddenly standing up, hugging each other and practically bubbling with joy. Emily felt numb. She looked toward Reece, seeing only flashes of him between moving bodies. He looked furious as the court security officers cuffed him and hauled him off, back to the DC jail to await transport to his new home for at least the next fifteen years. When Emily finally pushed herself up, she was slightly shaky, her body uncertain as to how to process everything now that it was all over, how to process the knowledge that she was actually safe. That Reece couldn't hurt her anymore. Her stomach turned violently once again.

JJ smiled and went to hug her, but she held up a hand. "I..." she struggled to swallow back her nausea. "I think..." she tried again and failed. "Oh god," she said, slapping a hand over her mouth and rushing out of the courtroom.

She landed hard on her knees in the bathroom stall seconds before her stomach lurched and sent her last meal up out of her mouth. Emily heaved twice more before her body allowed her a reprieve. She sat back as a hand rested on her back, tears flooding down her cheeks. She heard footsteps behind them and the rush of water, before a damp paper towel was passed to her. Emily wiped at her mouth and face, but it did little to help as her stomach twisted again and she sat up, vomiting into the toilet again. Her head pounded, her throat burned, and the flood continued pouring from her eyes, but she couldn't seem to make it stop. She'd get a minute reprieve, before another round of vomiting started. It must have gone on for ten minutes, by which point she'd already emptied her stomach and was wracked with painful dry-heaving, before it finally stopped.

Emily didn't move for an additional five minutes. Another damp paper towel was passed her way and the bathroom door opened briefly and closed with the distant sounds of voices. Garcia. She couldn't make out what she said though. Emily didn't realize that JJ was sitting on the floor with her until the blonde passed her a water bottle. Emily rinsed out her mouth, spitting the liquid into the toilet before taking a tiny sip that she swallowed. Two more tiny sips followed before she concluded that she'd had all her miserable stomach could handle, then she passed the bottle back to JJ. Garcia was standing just outside the stall, watching her warily.

"I'm okay," she said, her voice scratchy, as she pushed herself off the floor. JJ got up as well, and the two blondes stood to the side as Emily made her way to the sink. She washed her hands and used another paper towel to wipe off the smeared and streaky eye make-up. She looked pale, her eyes red and swollen, and she felt shaky.

"Take all the time you need," JJ said.

Emily looked around, noting the empty stalls and silent door. "Did you guys commandeer the ladies room?"

They both grinned. Garcia said, "The guys are guarding the door for us."

After a minute, Emily felt well enough to leave the bathroom, at least she felt like she could walk out and not immediately start heaving all over the marble floors of the courthouse.

Morgan, Rossi, Reid, Hotch and Will were all waiting for them outside the door, all five trying to be appear like they weren't as worried as they clearly were. Emily walked right over to Derek and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck and just letting the feel of him holding her sooth her. She spoke softly. "I'm sorry if I still smell like vomit."

Derek chuckled. "Don't worry, I don't smell anything...do you still feel sick?"

She sighed. "Yes."

"Alright, why don't we go back to my place so you can lay down for a while?"

Emily nodded but was reluctant to pry herself away from him. She did after a minute, but stayed close to him.

Rossi eyed her. "You think you'll be up to a celebratory dinner later?"

She nodded again. "I think so."

After some chatting about times and plans, they all headed out of the basement exit of the courthouse and into the connected building that housed the DA's office. They used the backdoor exit of the DA's office and managed to avoid the eager press waiting for Emily on the courthouse steps.

* * *

Emily nibbled on the toast that Derek had sat in front of her and sipped the ginger tea. It was all slow small bites and tiny sips as she tested her stomach's ability to hold the food. She still felt queasy, but she felt the worst was over. The court had purged Reece from her life and her stomach had purged the bastard and all the related stress from her body. It was almost strange to think that for at least fifteen years, she didn't need to think about him, not once. He was going to be locked up for at least fifteen years.

Derek sat at the table, not saying anything, just waiting in case she needed something else. She reached for his hand as she sipped her tea, and he took it, bringing it up to his mouth and pressing his lips to the back of her palm. "I'm sorry I didn't speak at the sentencing, like I said I would."

Emily put her tea down, frowning. "It's fine, Derek. Don't worry about that."

He shook his head. "I just didn't think I'd be able to hold it together if I tried to speak."

She squeezed the hand that was still joined with hers. "It's not an issue, Derek. Please don't stress about it."

Derek nodded, then looked her straight in the eyes, his swimming with pain. "I hate that you're afraid that I'll hurt you."

Emily put her tea down and turned her chair to face him, her knees rubbing against his thighs. Still holding his hand with one of hers, she rested the other against his cheek. "I'm not afraid of you. I know you won't hurt me, not in any way. I know that in my head, I know that in my heart, but there is this messed-up, irrational part of me that just assumes that any relationship I have will end in disaster, because frankly, my track record offers a tremendous amount of supporting evidence. And there is a messed-up, irrational part of me that is still living with Reece and assumes that every hand is going to hurt me and that every touch is painful. And it would be that way with any guy; in fact it would probably be far worse with any other guy." She paused for a moment. "With you, I'm not as scared."

"I'm glad for that," he said, his voice soft and heavy with emotion.

"But it will probably still take a while for that messed-up, irrational part of me to heal and go away. Can you live with that?" She asked.

"Of course, I can," he said, and pulled her against his body. She felt his lips press against the side of her head.

"Good," she said, her eyes pricking with tears, "because I think I'm in love with you."

Derek suddenly pulled away, his wide, surprised eyes searching hers. She stared at him anxiously as his eyes grew wet as well, then his mouth was suddenly pressing into hers and he was pulling her onto his lap. She clung to him, kissing him back, tensing only for seconds when his hands began to run up and down her back. Then he broke the kiss and pulled away, leaving her feeling slightly dazed. He ran a hand through her hair as he stared at her and said, his voice cracking, "I love you too."

Emily moved off his lap then, and held out her hand. "Lay down with me?"

Derek took her hand and they went upstairs to his bedroom, where Emily stripped down to her panties before grabbing a t-shirt from his dresser drawer and climbing into the bed. Derek was quick to follow, discarding everything but his boxers and sliding in behind her, wrapping his body around hers, and wrapping his arm around her waist.

They laid in silence for several minutes, though neither slept. Emily broke it. "Derek?"

"Yeah?" He pressed his lips to the back of her neck.

"I want a family."

"Kids?"

"Yeah."

"How many?"

"I don't know. Two? I don't want an only child, I want them to be able to support each other."

After he'd been silent for a couple minutes, Emily spoke again "Do you want...?"

He sighed and Emily's stomach ached with it and her eyes began to burn. She felt Derek tightened his arm around her and press his lips into the back of her neck again. "I like the idea of kids, the idea of being a father..."

"But?"

"It scares me," he said. She rested her hand over his, trying to comfort him. She didn't ask what scared him, she already knew he was thinking about every missing, broken and dead child they'd encountered at work and maybe even more so, what it was like to grow up without a father.

He suddenly released her hand and her heart began to beat faster and she tried not to feel like she was losing him. His hand slowly slid the few inches to her lower abdomen and came to rest right over her uterus. It stayed there as he nuzzled against the back of her neck, and then he spoke again, his lips barely inches from her ear. "But with you, I'm not as scared."

The tears built in her eyes and her voice was breathy when she spoke. "I'm glad for that."

"You should rest now," he said, "we've got to celebrate tonight."

* * *

_And this story is done. Thank you all so much for following along and being patient with updating issues, and thank you all very much for the reviews, alerts, favorites and profiler's choice awards nominations! And thank you Lizzabet for the prompt!_


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